The hour of dusk in the last of all forests

In the evening forest,
blackened figures stand,
these remnants of ancient evil,
do not,
move,
but their burning eyes,
shed shallow light from hell,
the fearful elements of nature,
wallow in anticiption,
as they expect a power,
greater than themselves,
and thus it comes to pass,
harken to hear.

The sky is no more,
for it is torn apart,
yet all around a thousand suns glow,
crimson,
and many more await,
their own,
genesis,
the forest cowers it's trees,
extinguished in the flames,
of the eternal bonfire,
then,
ashes,
dark creatures solemnly,
stand amidst,
chaos.

In expectance of something,
charred mouths move,
guardians of demonic orign show no care for the passage of time,
in a mortal world,
they do not concern,
themselves with religions,
for they have seen,
only pitiful gods,
the knowledge of their own One,
brings strength.

The moment,
of Arrival,
is upon us all now,
the weak shall surely pray,
to,
their deities,
and witness,
their pathetic downfall,
quick demise,
the strong shall do,
nothing,
in realization,
of submission,
and depravity,
of all,
that dies,
guardians,
await no more,
for it is time.