From above, a booming, thunderous crash
– the thump-thump-thump of hell
What, perchance?
Missiles, war, angry angels?
No –
’tis the ungainly strides
of the looming folk o’erhead.
My sleep – it is unwell.
For to ask of those in higher places
to tread less heavily
I fear their wrath to chase.
Nay, tonight my sleep shall break anew
Whilst above, large feet will tread.