Cry For Help

The storm is rising as the winds are whipping at the trees.
Oh, how they bow down to the mercy of the queen.
Fierce branches reach for the ground. 
Longing for the peace of the blue skies.
Mourning for the sun. 
They are trapped in the path of rage and destruction,
Begging to be spared the tragic and mourning destiny to-be.
Oh, how they wish to be freed the shackles which they heavily bear.
Save them!
Save them from the wrath soon to be unleashed. 
Hopeless?
Or fulfilling a duty?
Their journey, 
Yet to be revealed, 
Shall be great.