The Reaping of Flesh and Blood

I am the ashen skyline. I am the acid seas; the rains of
Liquid fire; the storms of rock and stone. Supreme is the
Will of the black divinity. A heart of destruction beats
To eternity

At my hands: a legion – swarms of catastrophes
In my trail: cold fire – but wastelands left to see

Both prayers and shouts of worship meet sheer
Indifference. The ghost of harvest scorns you -
This flashing scythe is blind!

These flowers made of flesh and blood
Flourish in a graceful blast

For ages kept a secret, a hideous miracle, deraded, yet
Forgotten – I live in the myth of Hell. Now risen from
Oblivion, from my abysmal sleep; a pitch-black ancient
Darkness is on the face of the deep

These flowers made of flesh and blood
Flourish in a graceful blast