The Accounting

Flying low above the earth,
  hunched with hammer in hand,
  terrible countenance, sharp eyes.

Searching
  for the pestilence.
  Intent on destruction of the blight.
  Intent on saving the creatures.

Considering closing the veil,
  dropping the shroud over our darkened eyes,
  disconnecting us forever from life.

Her presence is cold, unforgiving, harsh.

I cower, but cannot find safety
  She knows all rocks and stones,
  calls them by name, they move
  The mountains heave at her call
  exposing me, humanity, in our shame.

Bitter cold
  harsh winds
  against our naked bodies.

She has little patience.
  She is fury.

Winter is upon us
  and when the winter cleanses this earth of humanity,
  then the winter of our souls will begin.

And it will have no end.