2 Corinthians 10:4
Edmund Miller
Blue mourned skies and dark eyes, both martyred in red, Wildflowers, hills of grass, now seas of flesh and bone, And hark what fates lie for those now of the Dead,
Condemned to atone—the final alone. The breathing kill, spilling crimson oil, Waltz through fogs of green and putrid And whistling steel and kicked soil, On fetid blood, they choke. Glory, false for all. Now the skies howl. The beasts fall. Ever. Gone.
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