A chalky sky hovered between green and gray,
ominously racing forward in surging rage against us.
The closer it came the more it eclipsed the daylight,
and it displayed its sovereignty by redressing in sickly purple.

The air became so thick that it was hard to swallow,
so wet that humanity, for a time,
looked like it was walking against the current.
Some wished they had learned better technique.

They flailed their arms helplessly
and the billowing king came ever closer,
his laughter rumbling and cascading from the heavens,
a disruptive monarch exercising power that none could ignore.

But his was not the final laugh, nor the loudest,
for he was being used, a demi-king in service;
not to discharge tyranny, but to heal, renew.
His cries translated to proclamations of a greater king.

At last the mighty clamor broke into a million pieces
and and laughter descended in droplets too numerous
to count. The only laughter heard was of a revived earth,
no longer flailing but raising arms in a dance.


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