Nathrangking

Quick SU. Poem 40 was written with a purpose in mind. In essence, it was used as part of a proposal. Said proposal was accepted.

I give you number #41

Blight of Shadow

Mars with gladius drawn races now across sands aflame beneath the might of Amun Ra shaking the whole of the cosmos beneath his steps. Above in the skies, Isis and Minerva are locked in combat most deadly rending the heaven and turning the flesh of the lord and mistress of the earth into nothing more than ash that wafts blindingly across the field of battle. Mortal legions glut the decimated ground and are swallowed whole while the bane of Osiris stands beside the jackal-headed lord sweating and bleeding before the tempests that shear flesh from the bone without mercy. Vultures descend upon them as the twins riddle Horus with shot after shot until he plummets down as a comet to never again rise from the dead as his father. The Nile is now gold and filled with so many slaughtered. Temples are torn down to their roots and are nothing more than shattered husks. Treasures buy no mercy from Jupiter and Minerva when they smite the barge of the sun and the master of Chaos. Screams how they fly and only grow when even the blasted wilderness is no more. Two heads see the beginning and end with apathy responding not to those who are led away beneath the watchful eyes of Bacchus. Those that remain Isis in her rags, her husband whose crown is lost in the depths, and the sky itself are bound and led to the river that brought low the favored one of the new city. Raised is the laurel and son of the tamer of Gaul. Somewhere in the deserts, two lovers broken sleep eternally and are hidden from those who would take them to be the prizes of gluttons. A curse stalks the victors seeping into them and subtly leeching at them in ways that none can heal. Laughter as Sybil blinded, eternally weeps. A throne taken is inhabited by phantoms who replaced the flesh and blood when the upper and lower lands fell to silence without end.

More precisely #40 will be most special soon. I suppose I'll write a SU when it does become more than just another poem.

#40 A particularly special one in my opinion.

Sonata of the Stars

Hear me infernos of silver that watch now a world plunged into the depths of a damned realm that spawns monstrosities beyond imagining. Earth torn asunder so totally that screams of the primordials fly skyward begging that mercy be extended to mortal and immortal alike. Hordes without end, endless bestial armies drench the ground in spilled scarlet and gold. Cities are brought to ruin, choking the air with smoke and dust that seep into the wounds of the dead and dying. Children orphaned of all are desolate and alone while Woods from the very beginning of all remembering crumble and fade into the stuff of memories that only oblivion can and will remember. Screaming piercing the cosmos and tearing gashes in the tapestry of the upper realms does nothing to sway cold flames that consume the obliteration of everything with absolute dispassion. Tears boiling as seas expose the bones that few have ever seen go unanswered while all flesh bound to this plane is lost.

From amongst the prayers launched as a sun-blotting rain of arrows comes now a voice to soothe away the agony that has pared away all but the slightest sliver of meat from the spirits of those who once lived. She descends at speed, tossing aside any protests from those who lust for living sacrifices. That host that has left the desiccated husk of a once glorious and filled with vitality roars when spears of those whose voices are now silent fill them with every moment of pain, dread, despair, and loss that they evoked and carved into their victims. Deserts sprout even as the waters of the oceans rush to return to their sources healing the mother that was bereft of her children. Stones that were reduced to no more than powder now ascend into edifices ever more magnificent than humans could ever create. All the while, music most sublime is played by the hands of she who pulls down the stars and as something more precious than even a deity could reckon brings dreams long sought into this void. A reign not sought begins and will not end until long after the lights of the sky are no more.