The great flaming sphere of the burning sun
crested the horizon of catastrophe daybreak,
bringing with it the dawning of blood
and the thousand anguished wails of survivors.
They came at the height of midnight,
heralds of long-axe and pike
putting the believers to the hairline of the blade.
Orange flame of daylight danced atop the
fixtures of ornamentation of the knights of ever-late,
the awful visage of amss-murder below playing out as
mirrors on the visors of the newcomers-at-arms.
They said little and stayed less, the quarry eternal
having slipped beyond reach of their bola-nets and manacles,
and left behind those husks, unburied and burned,
as tokens of a repeated failure.
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