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The Coming Swarm

de Black Fast

Of grander visions, delusions abound
Stark conjurations, and the means unsound
In the coming swarm of my thoughts I'm found
Upon broken pillars of doubt and down
On fractured limbs wounded left to crawl
Through the wash and tide, engulfed and sprawled
Out barren, bleeding, ripped open all
To the endless ocean of my back I call

Tossing in its throes again
Transposing prose to verse
Preparing for the worst again
So do your worst

No borrowed tenets of corroding faith
Just contradictions and eroding shame
In of what was nothing, now is even less
In my dying hour nothing to confess
Born adrift in a flooding plane, rotting stench in a forgotten wreck
Receding waters, fermenting flesh
Oppressive sickle now reaping death

Littered carcass, bone and dust
Wounded sky raining will to rust
Iron core struck against the stone
Tattered, broken, strewn

Darkened skies, fixed to pen lament
Haunted vigil, no relent
Seeding vengeance, bleeding wrath
Fixed upon their battlements

Tossing in its throes again
Transposing prose to verse
Preparing for the worst again
So do your worst

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