Plagues

Somewhere within the spaces between death and this chaotic sleep,
Our riven sky is reduced to ash as the dissonant sun.

The faithful watch over as we writhe,
Convulsing in mercurial rhythms,
Mercurial rhythms.

Spurred onwards by this suffocating misery,
Our flesh is ulcerated, lacerated,
In a frail smothering nausea we lay,
And in violent seizures the earth begins to decay at our blistered feet,
The oncoming storm is a deathly prelude to an irreversible holocaust.

And as the blackened skies spew forth
Their vile carnage we recoil in hateful destruction,
Bludgeoned by shards of blood
And ice from the wretched heavens, we become nothing,
Are we destined to dwell eternally in this sickening darkness?
Will there be no forgiveness?
Will there be no final rest?