Opus Marduk Pt 4

Now within the warp flying through above a landscape so foreign to the material mind it is all I can do to stay sane within my insanity. Approaching on the horizon, a plateau arises out of the wastes of lava. Atop it is the castle. Not as any castle within the material would be considered. What could be seen were eight spires of glistening jet, connected by crenellated ramparts circled in such a way about the slope giving appearance a gigantic maw eager to swallow me.

Closing my wings, dove for the gullet, landing in a fighting crouch amidst a cavernous antechamber. This is the warp and the demesnes’ of a Cruorsot.

Upon bellowing my presence, a pack of Hounds of Tindalos bound from of the shadows and began to circle. As I kept an eye on them a twittering giggle caught my ear. Sniffing out the source, I was surprised at finding an Azure Dread, demon of Tezcatlipoca, within these halls.

“What manner of trickery of this you cursed fiend”? I snarled, “My ire grows, and I am weary for battle.” The imp laughed as he was joined by another.

“Have a care mortal beast. The pack only circles to protect us. We have business with your Master and must include even worms of such mortal taint. Follow if you dare.”

As they moved into a great arch the pack growled, opening a way. Following the Azure Dread into the hall, the drawings and frescos on the walls stirred my blood to a fever pitch. A history of Ghurzil and the sanguine story told served to awe and inspire my own bloodlusts.

There were hints that this may be an extension of Ghurzil’s palace itself! Staggering was the thought that perhaps within the bowels of this mythic structure was the mountain of skulls upon which sat the Golden throne itself. Down eight steps of the dais sit eight stone altars which surround the well of rage.

A nudge upon my thigh brought me back to myself and the largest Hound of Tindalos directed me to one side of a vast arena made small for the press of demonic form.

There in the center of the chamber was Martutu astride a brazen throne in the likeness skull from some primordial beast. Floating beside him were the two Azure Dreads. They rode a beast seemingly all wing, lazily flapping the tips to remain in place.

Miraculous was examples of all types of Ghurzilian demons were present and none were fighting.

A gong sounded, all the demons within the arena turned their attention to Martutu.

Thank you for reading,

Ernest

Opus Marduk – Pt 3

The Adversary Knight had barely brought JonDuc time to reach the lower levels of the temple. Evidence of the monstrous battle taking place above and the abuses caused by the land raider were all around in the visibly crumbling walls and ceilings. Each step was treacherous as the building shifted in its death throes. Rounding the corner JonDuc entered a cathedral size chamber.

There in the center of the abomination called an altar by the darkest powers, stood an odd cube. The gray, silver metal pulsed in a sickening imitation of life, the case of the Pandorica Libre. With intent to take it back to vaults of Titan, further probing the secrets of chaos, JonDuc reached for it. With simultaneity of chaos, Marduk entered the chamber.

JonDuc grabbed the cube, forcing its cool sliminess into the pouch he carried. At this violation of Chaos, by this follower of the Corpse Emperor, the full wrath of the Chaos hosts screamed forth.

Already on his way to Daemonhood, Marduk burst from his armor, shredding millennia old ceramite plates as paper. Touched by Ghurzil and filled with a rage so intense the very air burst into flame, he charged.

The temple almost did not withstand the first blows of the two as they struggled. JonDuc could not endure, the blows came to fast, too powerful and Marduk fought as Ghurzil incarnate. In the end, the final blow came not from Ghurzil’s demonic weapon, but from the beast itself as Marduk ripped the throat from the once Grand Master placing his torn head on the altar in obsecration to the Dark Powers.

Taking the Pandorica Libre in one claw, Marduk ascended to the top of the Temple carrying Jonducs’ still twitching form in the other. Looking across the plaza he saw the other Berzerkers activating the pylon gate. Dipping one blood stained finger into the cavity Jonducs’ neck once capped, Marduk fed the sigils in the pylon next to him. As he did, they began to glow. Brighter and brighter, pulsing in time with the Pandoricas’ case, the enemies of chaos were consumed in the warp flame as the Chaos burst into the material plane.

Feeling a stirring in his hand, Marduk watched as the Pandorica opened. Bathed in its eerie phosphorescence, he knew how to make these changes permanent. Leaping from the temple; spreading his wings he flew toward his cheering men. As they gathered, he began the slaughter. None could withstand him. As he swung, effortlessly cleaving their bodies and rendered them headless. Gathering the bloody skulls of his followers, he took them back to the altar.

For here, among the skulls of foe and battle brothers, calling out from the Pandorica in the language of Chaos, he absorbed their psyches. Burning and offering each to Ghurzil as the blood flowed. ….

For my actions Ghurzil himself granted the Ka’daath system in the Astronomicon Sector as my own principality. There have been many battles worthy of saga and I have ruled for many cycles of the galaxy.

Until the day Martus’ summons arrived.

Thanks for reading,

Ernest

FLASH Friday – A Shoggoth in my Basement!

A Shoggoth in my Basement!

I will never forget the night it happened. It was a quiet night, and I was relaxing upstairs with my one of my favorite books, “The Burrowers Beneath” by Brian Lumley. Stretched out on the chaise with my faithful rottweiler, Ronin I was all settled in for the evening. Suddenly there was a loud bang. I sprang to my feet and crept downstairs, trying to be as quiet as I could. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Suddenly I heard the bang again, but this time it was much more noxious and I knew it was coming from the basement. Summoning my courage, I grabbed a flashlight and strode stealthily down the stairs. I might have met my end right there, if not for Ronin, who pushed past me and stood barked warning. Startled, I jumped to the side just in time to avoid a long gooey appendage. I turned my flashlight on the intruder and gasped in horror. There, lurking in my basement, bathed in the baleful glow of my light, was a huge, quivering, shapeless blob of ooze! The hideous thing was blood red with eyes appearing and disappearing into the ooze. It was a shoggoth as big as an elephant in my basement.

“Shades of Lovecraft!” I cried.

Ronin and I fled upstairs, but the thing chased us with lightning speed. We were trapped, but we weren’t going down without a fight! First I, I grabbed a short sword from my collection. As slimy tendrils snaked their way under the door tried slicing them. It worked, for a moment, then the pulpy gelatinous began to merge. A new Shoggoth was forming! Some fast thinking and as Ronin kept the mini shoggoth busy, I ran to the bathroom and grabbed the can of Lysol. Now where was that lighter? Still by the incense burner, what a relief, on the stories things are never where you need them.

More of those noxious tendrils had come under the door and were joining to the mini-shoggoth. Holding my breath, I sprayed the Lysol and flicked my bic. Hoping against hope the can did not explode. I reeled back and seemed to retreat from my make shift flame thrower. My relief was short lived. The can had not been replaced in a while, and soon sputtered out. Once it did the shoggoth just kept coming.

Now full tentacles were through the door, eyes of all sorts forming and looking around the room, finally focusing on me. One of them wrapped itself around Ronin, lifting him from the floor. Swinging my short sword I cut through it as another one came for me. While trying to hack it off, I could see the door was buckling. Ronin was no longer barking but howling, I think the tentacle might have broken a rib.

The door burst in two flying into the room. Still tangled in the pieces of tentacle, I was knocked off of my feet. It filled the door like red play-doh pushed through one those molds. I thought we were dead for sure, when suddenly a strange figure crashed through my window and leapt between us! He was tall and gaunt, with fierce yellow eyes. He was dressed entirely in black, except for his red scarf.

“Ia! Ia! Fh’tagn!” the figure cried, and quick as a fox he jumped in and stunned the ooze creature with his incantation.

Without pause he stooped and began drawing a symbol. After a moment I recognized it1 An Elder Sign! So quickly and with such precision he must have done it a lot. Once he finished, he began to throw a white substance, which turned out to be rock salt, causing the creature to shrink. Eventually, it had shrunk to barely a double handful of muck. Pulling a mason jar from the one of the pockets in his trenchcoat he scooped it up. Pointing at my lighter, which I handed to him, he used sealing wax on the lid. From another pocket he produced a seal and imprinted it with an Elder sign.

“How did you do that?!” I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

“Their only weakness are certain incantations and salt,” he replied. “One good dose and the things are helpless.”

“But how do you find it?” I asked, staring at the shapeless mass.

“That is easy,” said the stranger. “It slime trail led right to your basement window.”

I thanked him for saving my life and asked him his name. “I am Whatley, and I have been hunting shoggoths all my life. Join me in my quest and we will make the world safe from their macabre evil!”

Now that I knew the truth, how could I say no? I joined Whatley that night and my life has never been the same. I learned how to spot their trails, the Kaloo incantation in the Pkanoptic Manuscripts, to temporarily bind them. Since that fateful night we have defeated over 23 of the ooze creatures.

Thank you for reading,

Ernest

Kaballah

In chaos there is meaning.

The meaning is there is no meaning.

Chaos

The weirding of the word

Is a lie to its content.

 

A portion of the great Ain Soph.

The mind grapples what it cannot conceive.

In the no-thingness of chaos

Is contained the birth of all.

 

Order,

Born of chaos,

Dies

Kicking and screaming

As chaos

Welcomes

It home.

 

All cycles,

All possible,

Extremes,

I climb the tree to live.

 

Looking out

Over the great mass of non-being

I see

In the distance

Another tree.

 

Looking out from the tree

Is me…

 

Opus Marduk – Pt 2

It was then the scheme to gain the ultimate power came to me. The hope I dared not hope, nor let myself know I hoped it, ascendancy could be mine, ran his thoughts,  in that moment, slaking my thirst from the blood running down my axe. I smiled as the warband roared in jubilation with the prospects of battle, none the wiser for the part they might play.

Others were aware of this event; it was a glorious, bloody series of battles. All added to the skulls and blood offered to Ghurzil, Mechron, Dark Yllie, Daks, Servants of Kurupi all provided ecstasy and rush of battle. After each battle, each sacrifice, Marduk could feel himself growing stronger, more powerful, filled with a rage so pure as to be euphoric. As the weak follower of Kurupi succumbed to the might of Ghurzil, it breathed the last temptation; the artifact they sought was the Pandorica Libre. Of such intense power, even fabled librarians of Tezcatlipoca had sought it for millennia.

Breaking through the jungles, the mythical temples came into view. To bleed a sacrifice upon the altar of the pylons situated atop each of the twin ziggurats would open a stable portal into the warp. The power of chaos could flow freely and he, Marduk, with the aid of the Pandorica would become legend. From afar a glint of metals gave rise to knowledge; this would be a special battle. One against a most hated foe, the Ashen Cabelleros. A foe especially despised since their banishment of Ka’jagga’nath , Lord of the Bloodtide, chosen among Khorne, whose epic corruption of a Sisters of Fortune garrison on Van Horne songs are still sung.

The battle was the fiercest in many a year, as wave on wave of the Ashen Cabelleros raced to the challenge of the ancient ziggurats. The Marauders fought as demons themselves, and Ghurzil smiled. The Grand Master of the Ashen Cabelleros JonDuc intent upon reaching the chaos artifact within the temple cut his way through the fray, one of the dreaded a Adversary Knights at his back.

Finally, as the great land raider, Grim Skull crushed the temple to ruins Marduk emerged with his retinue. Wearing the skulls of fallen as a mask, they inspired fear in even the fearless. The hideous heat of the heavy flamer, in support of the Berzerkers against a group of Purifiers, lent its sulfurous fumes to the stench of melting meat.

Marduk strode forth, confident of his power challenging the Grand Master to single combat. As all the followers of the Corpse of Mankind, he treacherously accepted and stepped aside for the Adversary Knight to come forward. Marduk’s roar of rage at the cowardice shirking of battle could be heard over the battle field. With a thunderous crash of ancient ceramite and metal, the demon trapped within his weapon screaming, the rending shriek of metal as Marduk clove the Adversary Knight, reached into its belly and withdrew the mewling occupant within. In a snarling growl Marduk asked, “You Ashen Cabelleros are supposed to know Chaos, I am here to give you a chance..Give yourself to Ghurzil and live”, eyes blazing, the devastated body of the once proud purifier released his hand. The dead man switch clanked and clunked down the face of the ruined temple, closing his remaining eye, gave one last scream from his tortured lungs, “For the Empire!”, and the Adversary Knight exploded.

The blast wave washed over Marduk, hot, powerful, but nothing as compared to his fury being denied his prize. Ripping the head from the fallen warrior, he turned up the body as a grotesque tankard, pouring the blood down his throat and over his face.

True sanity, after one fashion or another, entails dissolving the normal ego. That piece of false security, competency adjusted, to our alien, material world. In that moment the final shreds of Marduks sanity and connection to this mortal plane began to dissolve. Turning began to stalk after the Grand Master.

 

Thank you for reading,

Ernest

April 18th, 1942 The Doolittle Raid

Last week I spoke about heroes. Some say this day in history created heroes. Eighty men took off early that morning.

There are those who decried this as a pointless effort and waste of life. These 20-23 year old kids climbed into and flew planes off of an aircraft carrier. Did I mention these planes were never meant to do that? AND they did it knowing they did not have enough fuel to make it back, hoping they could make it to mainland China.

The results? A boost to Ally moral, a blow to the foe who thought their island untouchable and perhaps most importantly, causing the Japanese to pull back forces to protect the homeland. As bloody as the battles of Wake, Guam, Midway, and Okinawa were, those brave men and women were not facing all they could have faced. Many have sacrificed for us, thank a soldier for their efforts and give a thought to those who have gone before.

Like all stories there is more, to it. Because some Japanese fishing vessels spotted them, they took off early. This made their raid a daylight one rather than the intended night raid. Coincidentally though, he Japanese air defenses were down while an air raid drill was being conducted.

That was the last event which went in most of their favor. Eleven of the planes crash landed with crews bailing out. They had to make their own way to friendly territory. Eight were captured, of those one starved to death in a Japanese P.O.W. Camp and three were executed.

Those who survived the war began a reunion with a special ritual, a toast of Cognac in silver goblets. Each goblet had a raiders name engraved upside down. Every year, as their numbers dwindled, if a raider passed away, their goblet was turned upside down.

The last such gathering was held in 2013. Only four raiders remained to attend. At the time Lt. Col Richard Cole made a toast raising his glass before a large audience at the Wright Patterson Air Force Base and said, “I propose a toast to those who were lost on the mission and to those who have passed away since,” adding, “May they rest in peace.”

Lt. Col. Richard Cole, Jimmy Doolittle’s co-pilot, is now the last surviving member of the raid. At the age of 101 he was interviewed by Richard Roth of CNN at the Pacific War Museum in Fredericksburg, Texas.

“I asked Cole his secret to living past 101. He simply said, “Keep moving.” He said he would like to be remembered along “with the rest of the people that had an impact on winning the war.” I asked Cole if he felt he was a hero. A quick response. “No.”

You make the call on this, the 75th anniversary of one of America’s greatest military accomplishments.”

http://www.cnn.com/2017/04/18/us/75th-anniversary-doolittle-raid/

Anyway you call it, if you want a stirring, spine-tingling read, I recommend “30 Seconds over Tokyo” by Capt. Ted Lawson.

Thanks for reading,

Ernest

Where did it begin?

The weekend of April 9th, I had the chance to be in New Orleans. Well, anytime you can visit New Orleans, you really should go. The opportunity allowed me to visit friends, do some research and visit the radio show I do some work for as they entered their new studio. If you are in the New Orleans area you can hear on 99.5 WRNO on Sundays at 7 or catch them on podcast as The Week in Geek.

Opportunity arose for an impromptu, mini-interview. One of the questions Brian asked was where did it start for me?

I gave a quick answer on air, but the question has lingered. First, one of the things I am grateful to my grandmother and my mother was they did manage to instill a love of reading. That was the start. I could fairly well before I started school. Some of those early books I recall were Babar, Robin Hood, Paul Bunyan, 20,000 Leagues under the Sea and of all things, I fell in love with Edgar Allen Poe through The Gold Bug.

Once I was hooked, I found all I could at the library. I devoured Poe. By the time I was in third grade I had read many of his stories. Poe was stirring, and amusing. And all was well.

Until third grade. Not sure what possessed her but she thought reading The Tell-Tale Heart and Cask of Amontillado to third graders, even if it was Halloween, would be a good idea. Still, she did not reckon with me.

As she read them, many did get scared. Except me, having read them, knowing what was coming and watching the others get scared, I giggled.

Yeah, third grade and I was giggling at some of Poe’s scarier stories. It actually seemed to unnerve the teacher. I was sent to the principals office where I had to explain why I giggled.

My humor has always been a little dry and often dark, sometimes a gallows humor, this was probably some of that origin. But I also think it was what made me want to start writing. See, I liked watching the others react, and I wanted to make other react. Put words in front of them and pictures in their mind to which they would react.

Thank you for reading,

Ernest

Opus Marduk – Pt 1

Swooping over the blood soaked plains of the daemon world answering the summons, Marduk’s thoughts drifted over the circumstances of his ascendancy. From the first whispered tales of Khorne before the grand revolution throwing down the false emperor, through the endless journeys through the warp, leading his warband in one battle after another for the glory of Khorne…..

Many were the battles of my Marauders carving out swathes of destruction and carnage through the galaxy. In their wake only the charred ruins of systems, onward to the new sector and fresh offerings of skulls and spilling of blood for the Dark Powers. Until the day the Imperial Battle Fleet came and our only solace of escape lay within the warp. Chaos heeded our call. A titanic warp storm, its power was more than anything seen in this sector, the sheer ferocity of the warp overwhelming our astronavigator, losing us in the labyrinthine corridors between the worlds.

Within the malicious currents of the storm, we boarded them. One by one, my fleet grew. The hunter was now the prey. Those who would not surrender to the Dark Powers were sacrificed. Of those who surrendered, the sweetest taste were those of the Delphian Guard who succumbed, seeing the false light of their corpse empire for lies; joining eagerly in the sacrifice of their former Battle Brothers. Many were the skulls piled in cairns as offerings to the Dark powers.

The sights, the madness, the glorious Muse which bore me euphoria from its womb; whose pained head I first took Vision of those instincts which have to do with all corruption. Rage, only rage began to exist, the purer the rage the more in control I felt. The stranger god was his own, MARDUK. Yes, it was he who tasted life then, the seed of the earliest dreams sprouting, taking root in the hoary remnants of my soul.

Marduk smiled at memories of the whispers once reaching his ears.  For as time passed within the timelessness of the warp Ideas there were those sought to sow sedition speaking against him. Whispers of getting ideas above my station and despite our victories, we were cast into the Warp Storm as punishment and to teach me my place; Marduk’s mirthless laughter rang off the canyon walls at the memory. So easy to handle, those who complained – adding their skulls to the growing cairns in dedication to Khorne, drinking the blood of the slain from their skulls as their brethren watched, searing into them the discipline and obedience he required as they each sipped in turn..

Each death more savage, each more bestial, yes, it was he who flung himself upon the mon-kee, who bit , tore and swallowed the smoking gobbets of flesh- while on the trampled decks began the rites in honour of their god, blood smoked as incense and shared draught, while the cairns of skulls grew-and In his very core, felt the bestial elevation to his ascendancy.

After one such orgy of blood, it happened. The sighting of an Imperial battle cruiser and as the storm waned; we attacked out of the storm. Their cruiser’s astronavigator was caught by surprise, the warp disruptions still blinding them and they crashed to the planet below.

The hated enemy, a host of Dark Angels, spilled from the wreckage like maggots deserting carrion. Our warband descended upon them as the wrathful vengeance we represented. In a battle bloody and fierce, even for followers of the corpse empire, more of the warp filled me. Till within my armor, the very form of one of the Dark Powers began to take shape. Among the spoils, a pair of scroll cases the contents citing a mysterious void, the Astronomicon, said to contain a source of great power.

Thank you for reading,

Ernest

Flash Friday – To Catch a Tooth Fairy

Dr. Silas Von Rott smiled while putting the final touches on his automaton. “Yes,” he thought, “when laid out on the bed it will look just like a real little boy.”

Carefully, he loaded banana pudding into the trap’s squirt gun. When that tooth fairy shifted the pillow in order to retrieve the tooth, banana pudding would squirt from the fingers.

He called his manservant to bring the automaton. While walking to the room he had prepared, Dr. Von Rott rubbed his hands and chuckled.

“Tonight, Mordecai, I shall become powerful. I shall bait the pillow with this tooth I purchased. Ahh, a lad after my own heart he was, all I had to do was promise him a sweet. Knocking the tooth out of some other child and bringing it to me was his idea. Delightful child. Soon, I will have a tooth fairy’s wand. Do you realize what this means, Mordecai?”

Mordecai just shook his head; carrying the heavy automaton up the stairs took all his strength and concentration. Besides, whether he answered yes or no, he knew Dr. Von Rott would tell him anyway. The Doctor enjoyed expounding upon the cleverness of his ideas.

“No, of course you don’t, Mordecai. A simple fellow such as you would never grasp the sublime simplicity of my genius.” Dr. Von Rott continued so swiftly Mordecai could not have answered even had he been so inclined. “As you know, when a child loses a tooth, the tooth fairy comes to collect it. They leave behind money for the tooth. Sometimes as much as a quid, and how do you think they carry it? No, I know you do not know. It is not in a wallet or purse I can tell you that, there isn’t one big enough. No, they use a wand to summon the money once the tooth has been collected. Now, once I have secured the wand I can summon all the money I wish, enough to finally create my army of clanks armed with death rays with which I can take over and rule the world!”

Mordecai shook his head a lot as he placed the automaton as the Doctor instructed. His family had served the doctor’s family for generations and this was in no way unusual behavior. Besides, the benefits were pretty good.

Automaton placed, Mordecai and the Doctor left the room. Mordecai went to his room to read while the good Doctor went to his study to determine how he would spend his soon-to-be immeasurable wealth.

*****

Fang was so glad this was the last call. This night had been one of the roughest in memory. Screens, cats, and bug zappers – all of the troublesome things which make a tooth fairy’s job less than dreamy. One child this night even had the audacity to attempt to capture him. Fortunately, it was only a mason jar and easy enough to flutter through. Fang just wished it had been a new jar. In the short time it took to exit, he had smelled enough pickles to last him years.

There were no screens on the windows for this house. Fang fluttered through and stopped to look around the room. He did not see any teddy bears. Those guardians of childhood never bothered him, but he did like to say hello, just to be friendly. Something did not feel right.

With a shrug, he flew to the bed where a child lay fast asleep. Fang landed near the edge of the pillow. Taking just a moment to preen his whiskers and scratch his ear, he sniffed the air. Yes, there was a fresh tooth from a boy under the pillow, but there was an undercurrent of odors he did not like, banana pudding with a hint of grease. It seemed to come from the sleeping child. Perhaps the lad had simply had some banana pudding for desert.

Slowly, with a bit of apprehension, Fang approached the pillow. He could see the tooth, just a little too far back for easy reach. The surprise came when he lifted the corner of the pillow.

A glob of banana pudding engulfed him. If not for the slight hiss as the air released, he would have been caught facing the pillow. The warning gave him a split second to turn slightly, or else he would not been able to react. The child’s mouth opened, springing a cage made of false teeth.

Dr. Von Rott had been daydreaming of giant clanks marching on London when the alarm sounded. The Queen was just about to give him the crown too! But more importantly, the tooth fairy trap had been sprung. He raced up the stairs to claim his prize.

Old tooth fairies do not become old tooth fairies without having learned to survive attacks such as these, so faster than thought as the false teeth sprang forward, Fang summoned up the unusual defense he learned early in his career, a shield of vanilla wafer. Bracing as best he could, the uppers broke as he knew they must, the impact throwing him clear of the banana pudding.

He was covered in the banana pudding. This was indeed a dastardly trap. Whoever set it knew banana pudding would prevent a fairy from using their dust. Normally fairy dust formed a cloud around the fairy allowing them to fly and flutter through objects, but this sticky covering kept the cloud from forming. Those false teeth, he shuddered, were the one thing which a fairy could not flutter through. It had been a close call. Fang had one last trick up his sleeve, and it did not depend on fairy dust.

Footsteps were charging up the hall. Just as the door opened, Fang used his last trick. Even many fairies did not know why they had whiskers and rounded ears. In the once-upon-a-time days, people left their children’s teeth for his kind, until one day such a great amount of belief magic accumulated it turned the humble grey mice to tooth fairies. In times of great need, all tooth fairies could still take the form of a mouse.

Dr. Von Rott saw the banana pudding and broken cage on the bed. “Curses! Foiled again! And by a mouse!” he screamed as a pudding-covered mouse scurried along the sideboard.

(Inspired by actual events)

Thank you for reading,

Ernest

Refugees

Our lives are glass,
Painted in the blood, 
Of our brothers and sisters.
Shattering of hearts unheard,
Unseen continues
As the stones 
Of our difference 
are thrown.

Mementos’ gathered in haste
Memories of what was,
What could have been.
Lost in the darkness,
The true price of war.
 
 

Hell is what this sour land will be 
As Death walks among us.
Stirring this crucible of religion
In madness and blasphemy.
 
In a hurricane of hate
A million shouted destinies destroyed.

A ghost smile clenched in her teeth,
The babe seeks comfort still
From the teat of mothers rotting corpse.
  
Truth comes only
From mute words of the innocent, 
As they wash upon the shore.
May they forgive us,
As they sleep in deadly peace.
 
Tired, cold, I am descending
Into the silence of emptiness
I close my eyes.
What will you see 
when I close my eyes forever?
 
For as the Angel of Death
Walks among you
Know his true name-
 Humanity.