Wargaming For Poets

[Shannow]

Eulogy of a Meal

The rolling tempest,
Of blackened sky and crimson rain,
From harpies blades
And towered graves.

The dark city stands
And trembles with joy;
As screams echo through
And down its artieries.

Cut groove channels
From bloods flows,
Are geological in scale.

The deepened bass
Of shared pleasure
Nauseates my mortal mind,
And fear pulses quick.

No feral eyes or sharpened teeth
Bring terror so swift,
As that gleeful cackle
And sultry tone;

As the walls fall down
And the dark encroaches
My soul but moments to live.

The Emperor is dead.

The dark city rules.