Riddle

By Brian Looney

The sun’s rays are fragmented.

My army is come.

Marching, marching.

I am the flying menace.

I besiege suburban homes

And rickety slums

With equal scorn.

Quivering children

Mark my supreme onslaught.

Teddies are dug out of dust

To comfort desert urchins.

Slack-eyed savages,

Lusting for power,

Fearful of death,

Praise my horrible yelps.

Deaf to prayer,

I deafen The Devout Prayers.

And the fear is unclear.

Such booming decadence,

Such shocking threats.

I am imagination’s sinister ally.

I am the sound of angels’ horns.

I am Thor’s auditory servant.

What am I?