Phobos Fire draft

Starry skies and saffron haze,
tranquility shrouds the bloodied dead
and cloaks the wail of vultures circling overhead.

Phobos rising,
the glaring red emanating a living glow
from lifeless eyeballs and dried tongues.
Deimos accolades,
the hard violet corroding Sol's hold,
shadowing the glaring glow of long-past dawn.
A grim monument,
An Ares-herald piled-high,
the children of earth beseech their patron:
"Shower us in purifying fire,
lift us aloft with alighting flame,
smite out bode with a conflagration
such that Hades might rage with envy.
Pull at our true selves,
severing us from this mortal coil
with a holocaust of heat."

The killing long-since complete,
enacted with such grim precision and efficacy
to make Sol flee and weep.
Under baleful eye of Demos
and burning glare of Phobos
the husks of the martyred dead
piled high and blood,
gathered as the massacre was lead,
came to designate the omnipresent
flesh-mound a bright and shining red.

The red-ritual complete,
with wall of bone
and pillar of tooth replete,
the sacred eye of Ares turns
and, across the inky black expanse of ether,
opens the ancient portal awide
as volumes immeasurable of death-crimson flame
do spring toward Terra in fever:

A journey of a thousand lifetimes expanse,
bridged in the life and death of a breath,
the flare of the father of Phobos reaches
infant Terra and, noble, green and blue Terra,
is annihilated by the flames' all-encompassing breadth.
The broad expanse of biology destroyed
as the last glowing embers of holy prayer deployed,
and yet, alas, hope for followers of fields and dreams remain, as,
somehow, supplicants of devil-father and demon sons
were, for but a miniscule moment, decoyed:

A babe remained,
swaddled in shrouds of Terra's veridian,
protected until the last of the scouring flames
of the life of the faith drained and, despite their prayer,
a hope, a miniature fragment of life was yet sustained:
Somehow, the flames of Phobos' father
were contained.