The Day the Music Died

A startling hush descends
As the last warrior collapses;
E'en the feathered birds
Abandon their past time joy
And the magnificent phoenix
Cannot find a will to cry.
And the air is still, not
A hint of breeze dares to
Rush in as a chill-
A horrific, leadening chill-
Settles, fogging every heart, every mind,
Every soul. 
Not even does a pulse sound
In the very distance
As tension builds, rents the air stale;
Not a whisper, not a rustle. 
And the setting sun fails to
Shine one last time, shedding tears
Colored bright green and dark red
That silently flood the parched ground
Below as dark, evil clouds
Glide in on non-existent wind,
Obscuring the once blue and hopeful sky.
Not e'en the crackle of fire is heard,
As though Time has frozen, to allow
The victims a last respite,
To gather one last cherished memory
To block out that wrenching day
The music died...