There you’ve shut up inspiration and awe

Darkened a clear sky

And fallen mountain ranges with a single thought

With an ocean of dreams now quiet

Hiding in its depth in the night

Hoping the sun never rises

Dare I whisper anything?

That time will not be the verse

That killed the gods

To show a river of blood

Quenching the parched earth.

Reflecting against heaven

A crimson hue of death poured like rain,

Crocus raises his eyes to the guilty

Distorted by clinging tears

Sight is restored shedding their ocean.

Witnesses his enemies’ bloody hands

The tears’ missile screams plummet to earth.

The angels and demons poured from their dwelling armor

Are drained by the moments captured in the murder

They are bled by the guilt

As they Crocus’ sight, his discovery,

His loss,

His time,

He steps towards his lifeless love, kneels by her side

Brushing her hair from her brow,

Whispers of finality to the last intrusion known

A brief look to the culprits and back to those lifeless orbs.

A death scream issues from him

Like an explosive crack of thunder

Making the earth tremble, swell, and shrivel her form to dust

Floating a moment in the air where time turns to rust.

Angels scream thundering pain

As their slaughter began.

From Crocus’ depth of sorrow

Heaven and hell have no tomorrow.

A pack of wolves, a measure of his hate

Tread his heels and scatter to all places

His sword thus presses onto the artery and vein

Toppling columns and alters in the mansion.

His prayers show no kindness or mercy

As angels fall in the dust, torn and bloody

His breath was cold and vapor to the air

Stands still in the dust of the murderous fair.