THE RED LINE

THE RED LINE

Sunday, October 5, 2014

NIGHTBLOOM


NIGHTBLOOM



In that war-weary world

where the blackness-clad hooded barbarians consume the cowardly vestiges of civilization

and seize everything, living and inanimate, in their path,

despite prayers on bended knees of innumerable supplicants to an absent creator;

where advancing hordes of predators smile with blood-glistened teeth

glowing in the light of a crescent moon, hung like a sickle in the sky;

where the doomed and damned observe, in impotence, from crevices and shuttered dwellings

and await the coming slaughter with shivers and whispers

instead of cries of outrage and acts of valor;

where too many words have, at last, burned up too much time;

where the merciless enemy of the entire sentient species

continues its conquest, undeterred, and devours the fleshly pulp of the formerly proud

and crushes centuries-old cultures hastily under its boots -

and brazenly dictates a future far worse than imagination can translate

to the bowed masses, shivering and soiling themselves - awaiting the fall of the gleaming blades;

with a detached sense of relief in their impending, inescapable release from the once-unthinkable,

as they prepare to embrace the slipping into the nothingness that death surely brings;

as the night blooms wider and wider, obscuring any trace of the sun,

and flourishes, fertilized by a soil rich in freshly-compacted human carcasses.






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