The Lull before the Storm

The little bee dropped its head, the buzz died,
Settling with the dust, a storm approaches.

A dried petal of a dying flower, bee smiles,
The petal floats, settling among the corpses.

The chaos blows its trumpet, mighty high it rides,
Victory, it screams, warpath is my home road.

My shield, my strength, where lost art thou,
Hold my arms, ride along, on the mighty toad.

The grunge of the metal, grinding on asphalt,
With every step I dissolve, I fade into space.

I try to hold on, your hands, your memories,
The bugle plays the harmonies, chaos stays.

And at length, the bee spoke again,
At length it stoped staring at the dead leaf.

A mighty roar, from a fragile being,
The storm approaches, stealth of a thief.