It rained last night, and now the morning air
is still, as though the sleeping world holds breath
for fear the howling winds return to tear
and rend the day with threats and screams of death.
The flames, last night, spread through the streets at speed
and tore the peace apart with fear and dread,
as the rampaging mob sated their greed
and turned their backs upon the hurt and dead.
What moves the air? When nature sends the gale
to scour the land, what motive stirs her mind?
No reason quite so small as this sad tale,
of greed and spite, the blind maiming the blind.
The waking world now holds it breath to see,
is there an end to this insanity?