Stormcrow

He comes,

Rolling thunder borne upon his wings
And jagged lightning clasped in crooked claws.
Round about him the air sings
A tumult in the air he draws.
Each ebon plume a rain-laced cloud,
Heavy laden with refreshing sorrows.
The drums of war, behind him, ring loud
His flight, a thrilling violence follows.

He is the emissary of  a ferocious change,
The battle rages in his wake,
He shall wash the old from the sweeping plains,
A shattered wreck left in its place.
Yet this dark-winged harbinger of ruin
Shall in turn wash the blood from the earth,
For he is more than the herald of dark cataclysm
He comes as mystic omen of a savage rebirth.

Within his piercing eyes of jet there lies
Both the shadow of doom and new light.
He tears a great rift through the burning skies,
Apocalypse follows his soaring flight.
Yet the new world, as the phoenix, takes wing
Though how shall frail mortal light fare
As all things must end and a new dream begin?
Stay close now child, in the electric air,

He comes!