Apart from nothing

The clamant cries of my diaphanous heart To the malefic falcula of the hodiern state; Drop by drop thou ravagest my humble croft, Sanguine malice writ upon thy fate. The phthisic touch of thy monstrous hand Asperges the souls thou seek’st to consume; Boiling blood upon the pallid sand Whispers dirges of an impending doom. The empyreal vault beholds our plight, Yet tyrant shadows eclipse the sun; Oppression’s sceptre, cold and blight, Hath silenced many left breathing none. But from the ashes of the fallen few Shall rise a cry the ages cannot bind; A tempest born of anguish true Shall scour the darkness of mankind. For though the falcula gleams with might, And sanguine streams stain earth and air, The verity buried in endless night Shall bloom again defiant and fair.