What next?

There is no action left. The storm has passed.
There is a deafening silence and heedful ears all around
Soul is pregnant with sentences waiting to flow
The field with muddy brown is yearning for naked feet to kiss
The porous clouds stare wearily as they lose status to peeping Sun
The skin shall feel the elements yet again. Play; yet again
That can’t happen before tears of survival are shed
What is lost to the storm is lost in time but etched on heart
It shall remain heavy till the burden is shed in death
Pretentions are waiting in wings to play viability guides
The guile craft shall not die. The pretentions will again fly
Me too should pretend. How else can I hold on to life?
No, my heart shall stay tender
Land a blow one more yet again
But this heart shall stay tender.
For, what is this breath that fools the air
For, what is this blood spurious in its color.
Unfeigned, these eyes shall look. Unhindered these feet shall move.
For, what is this survival guided by the guiles of the nether world.