Corpse-wind screams through broken branches
A fools lament scattered upon fallen tenets
Rotting and burned, their faces turned from
the once beloved.

Shattered angels, their once proud forms
sad as broken crystal.

Cries of the light, harrowed flesh
red...
raw...
bleeding...
Fitting supplicants for the sacrificial feast.

Torn throats cry for release
Death himself spits black seed in tear-streaked faces.
The sweet mother laughs,
As the hounds bay in the rising moon.
Rejoice, oh sapience...
For despair cometh on swift wings,
And thy flesh is soon consumed.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Severin, in the year 179 MA.