An Island of yardbirds,
castaways of all race,
Morbid,
Demurred,
The odour of malaise,
To rack and ruin,
Malevolent hole,
Bedeviled shack,
Embedded in ruin,
Ronove on his throne,
Filicide,
his eternal bliss,
Misery abloom,
The Great Earl of the Abyss,
Paranoia homegrown,
Men for themselves,
Aggregated miscreants,
Their acts of blasphemy,
parallel to none,
Desecrating ingénues,
greenhorns on the run,
Eviscerating the old,
Their toxic fun,
Sombre viridescent hues,
Thickened verdure,
Now woodland rye,
The ground wet with lifeblood of old,
Pale hues of brown,
Gracing the coppice floor,
An eccentricity of the arid south,
Bloody wombs,
Malphite,
sullied rags,
Nugatory tombs,
For those to be forgotten,
White flags,
The sanguinary bivouacs,
The putrid corpses,
A river of blood,
thickened warp,
cadaver crud,
Cadavers,
Wrinkled folds,
Violet tinge,
Blood borne mould,
Defunct fringe,
A spattered arena of a hamlet,
Heavy wounds on back of it all,
Everything steady,
Only to fall?
A wailing shanty,
Tormented by the madness of men,
Bloodthirsty barbarians of “galante”,
The Marquis,
Riled,
His scythe,
Beguiled,
Lacerated wood greeted the tar path,
Mangled entrails,
A bludgeon bloodbath,
Teardrops of wine,
Glistened their crows feet,
Ronove,
Basked in glory,
His rhetoric moan,
Astaroth’s aid,
His new legions,
Forty,full blown,
His zealous profane workers,
The order of throne,
The witching hour lurker,
His infernal groan,
The fallacious berzerker,
Cerberus,
The Bringer of Inclement,
The hellhound of Misery
reckless and tempestuous streaks of agony,
The blackguard of the forsaken,
Men,
Burnt to a fine crisp,
The petrichor of justice,
Now mist,
Ash now in melody with the placid twilight sky,
Black cinders in the wild Orchid welkin,
The tar road,
Sable,
With a drumlin of ember,
The harmonious union,
A new equilibrium,
The dance of death,
The ballad of life,
The agony of the last breath,
A sentient beings strife,
An art to bequeath,
All were dead,
But one,
The usurper,
Tranquil from the bloodshed,
The revelry had just begun,
On the run,
The Juncture of Astaroth,
Nightfall had struck,
The usurper was in luck,
Legions,
Prostrate,
The juncture had passed,
The azure,
Now rose from beneath the shaded Stygian Crypt,
The usurper now trapped in a forest,
Vast,
Out of the blue,
He paced towards the bright clinker walls,
Of an abandoned byre,
Amidst a golden field of corn,
Parched,
He searched for running lifeblood,
Famished,
He roamed the flaxen paddocks of ailment,
Satisfied,
Luxuriated under the honeycomb empyrean,
Lady Midday,
Roamed the field,
Her pearl tinged robe,
bejeweled the field,
The idyllic sound,
Rustling crop,
Her bright virgule,
The usurper roused,
His caterwaul of misery and dread,
Her shead was scorching under the beams of the sun,
With one swift motion his head,
Catered away from his peach corpse,
The ichor dripped,
A furrow of red,
Scarlet soil,
Rather than rye,
Maize watered with blood,
Just another gloomy,
Lacklustre day,
Lady Midday,
Evanescent,
Another body,
Now at bay.
Crimson Skies 