Soul Hunters in the Middle

Nothing seeks the evening
that’s pregnant with storm
the wood silent, nary a leaf stirred
the wind holding its breath allowing heat
to accumulate in the invisible dome
planted by nature within its midst

the pool was dry, water lilies slumped
on its cracked bed, accompanied by displaced toads
croaking wretchedly for the cool of water’s depth
gnats buzzed in frustration seeming in need
of some relief fanned  by its own wings

with these desolation came no consolation
for those who sought shelter from doom
created by sudden gusts of raging wind
as  they would fly with the men of dusts
on gossamer Pegasus with sharp scythes

silence before the storm
broken by triumphant sounds
of sovereignty
Nature blasted
the trumpet sounded  

the storm came in screaming rage
riding with them the legion of death
descending upon the cowering humans
they harvested without scruples
for they did not see any blood on the lintel

when they passed over, carrying souls
reaping the fields of nature
devastation was on their pathway
but somehow the air felt fresher
depicting a new season like the first day.