I. The Arsonist

First to gaze on endless death
And sift through the tears of time.
The grains surround his wilted soul
As his dry mouth curses heaven,
And life leaves him
for those stolen from brethren.
* *
An empty shell wanders its innards
Finding the arsonist amidst the rest of nothing
Gasping futile breaths of repentance
To a God with a grudge of stolen fruit.
Placid darkness settles on silence,
Darkness gives the flame its purity.
Darkness bestows the fire starter with humanity
From hands that bare nothing but reflection.
* *
The wafted flames on grim sands
Leave legacy of redeemed conflagration
Along the sea of defined glass
Surrounding the oasis.
From the warmth of fleshes grains
The glassmaker crafts city from sin,
Breathing only to praise his fellow man
Monuments erected for lost brethren.

II. The Alchemist

Second to course fingers through black sands,
Each freckle of gold dancing about them.
Thousands of billions yet to claim
Within the seas of specious powder.
Bullets drench crimson robes
From the brow of a madman.
* *
The shadow saves face under its bearer,
Tears streaking soot from his lips
While the agony of war sounds.
The golden pendants of failure
Dangles valiantly against his breast,
As each grain of time
Extrudes mist about greedy muzzles.
With the taste of metal on his tongue
The alchemist prays that he’s spared hell,
And runs fingers through the ash
As his blood clasps to the ash…
* *
From itself the phoenix is reborn
The glassmaker gives gunpowder purpose
Erupting the speckled canvas with hues
Proving to the night he lives.
Hues of sporadic embers glaze glass,
And make a cyclorama of the oasis.
And the scientist’s mementos bracing his heart
Behold the beauty of black sands.

III. The Exiles

Ready to face unjust fate.
Freedom relinquished for unjust kings.
Fighters born from rebellion
To claim liberty at the border of death:
The antagonizing sands of this barren earth.
* *
Salvation is not an option
Of the night, no life can prosper.
The mouths that sing for freedom rasp to whispers
Glass lined throats lust for water.
Come, exiles, to the terminal.
* *
To the east a torch blazes for you,
The city lay awaiting your arrival
Arsonist’s craft to breathe to you life
Hands to cup drinks to your weakened lips.
Gaze at the vibrancies of the night
Upon its hues and wondrous thunder.
The ascending serpent to ashes
Alchemist’s guidance as the phoenix
Reprieve to those unwilling to die.
* *
Ready freedom fighters, to the salvation of the glass.
Come to the arsonist’s hands, gaze upon the alchemist’s reprieve.

IV. The City of Glass

The sob of the hour glass leaves me desolate.
Birthed from the oldest of despair.
I am the resting place of the damned.
From the victims of my body I know suffering
For the pain endured is mutual.
* *
Cold flesh is familiar to my face
Death is second nature.
Blood is an acquired taste, to which I’m accustomed,
And victim after poor victim I pray for eternal rest.
* *
This vict—this man he clings to breath
Ashes cover his hands and they are warm…
I hold my prayer, for you will live.
I reject His death, and I take action,
For your hands that come bearing life,
Have brought me to tears.
* *
Charred flesh shapes my face,
This body of despair is no more.
Every creature that has hands to feel smooth glass,
Can claim every grain to burn.
Let cities cast shadows on badlands
Claim domain and live.

V. Shadows

We the shadows are here as a sign.
We are nothing without light
And you are nothing but.
We raise our forms high,
And kneel at your feet.
Forever shall we encompass evil,
And shield you from its clutches.
Eternally shall we remain loyal,
And support the rear.
Undying, we will remember the past
And personify what you’ve overcome.
We the shadows are here as a sign.