"Battle in the Heavens"

The sky bleeds crimson at the day's retreat,

As clouds march forth in a dark brigade,

Their formations are ragged, incomplete,

Against the light's last barricade.

Like smoke from a cannon's mighty roar,

The cloudbanks roll in tactical display,

While nature wages ancient war

Between the night and fading day.

The trees stand guard in silhouette,

Their branches raised like spears of old,

As sunset mounts its last regret,

In desperate strokes of burning gold.

Through fading light and gathering shade,

The sky becomes a battlefield divine,

Where day's last stand is bravely made,

Before the stars begin to shine.