The Crimson Clouds Poem by Cayden Scribner

At the edge of night and the break of day
The sky slowly became filled
Not with the grey and Smokey clouds that you might imagine
But those made of crimson

It washed the world with its rain
But the rain caused a bloody stain
The blood of those who are dead
And now we, mostly killers, truly feel the bloodshed

They become used to it
For they were already aware of the deeds that they had done
But that was measly fun
Now it rains for nothing and for no one