Dark Poetry: Our Desolate World, A Forsaken Coffer

Sterile;

Infinite;

Expanse;

Lifeless abode;

Engulfed by fetid air,

A rancid stench

of ancient annihilation.

Prominent, expectant,

Parched of all plasmic cartilage

A scavenged chasm.

Harvested;

Swarmed;

Stripped raw;

to naked repugnance.

Unfathomable depression:

Human scaffolding;

Embodied;

Fused;

Masquerading; mangled clumps.

Amalgamated amidst

the crude crawling earth.

Impregnated debris,

Mundane, ashen ossified matter,

A suppressed desolate abyss:

Obliterated;

Shrouded;

Monstrous;

Deprivation.

Piteous;

Mortifying;

Catacomb;

An eternal macabre crater.

Unredeemed;

Nomadic marrow;

Eradicated to unknown existence.

Candelstine:

A perpetual vacuum,

of mass affliction.

Desolate;

Desert;

Forlorn void;

Unparalleled.

Demonic wraith,

Dormant,

Mid the charcoal fragments

of extinction.

Contrived by mortals,

Condemned by the mortified,

Our desolate world:

A foresaken coffer...

Death is the equality we all share: all living things from the fish in the sea to the birds in the sky to the yellowing meadow full of wilting flowers. Those who use their power (be it money or status) to take lives (be it in solitude or masses) destroy nature and abuse our world, will one day be nothing more than ossified matter in their eventuality of unfathomable depression decaying in their own forsaken coffer. We can only hope it will be sooner rather than later.

Whether God in some form or other exists we may wonder but the devil for sure is alive and walks amongst us. And every chance he gets, he consumes.