It Ain't Homicide

In the existing of that presence -woed and glowered,

In every teardrop of that fall- bathed and showered,

Scattered and hollow soils all suited to shake,

Is that what a universe will be blamed to make?

The feathered doves flying in peace,

To attack from high- making us tease?

The hidden beings would finally heal,

To the cheers of revenge they'll feel,

The cyclones and tornados bullied us once,

Now is when they'll enjoy all the funs,

Our sympathetic air will now torture or lure,

It ain't homicide I see- but suicide for sure.