The harvest

The angel descends on the earth,
And in a harrowing surge the sealed ascend
into the dissonant sky, and we remain, the wretched unsealed,
Decaying deep within this swirling ocean of human misery and disgust.

In our mortal despondency we are left to rot,
In a continuous cycle of violence and suffering we dwell,
Until the subsequent angel of Heaven infiltrates the macabre empyrean,
As a chthonian darkness pierces the horizon,
the misanthropic genocide of our hateful race,
we are cast into the bleak seas of damnation,
our tainted blood flows for miles in a mercurial deluge,
Laying waste to a once picturesque landscape,
An exquisite work of art that now lies in ruins,
Corrupted by the defiled blood of the wretched unsealed,
We are held responsible for all that we've done,
The blood of mankinds ruin is on our hands…