The Pheonix is nigh

When broken bones and bloody eyes turn to scars,
Trembling lips and withering smiles curse the stars.
Our hands do the dirty work of evolutions eternal war,
We break them down rending and tossing their mask afar.
They’ll curse and weep beneath our steady hands.
As enemies, in splintered unity they’ll try to stand.
But soon they’ll see why we tear and rip at their hope,
For soon amidst the shadows and inky darkness they’ll grope.
From their singed corpse we’ll smite the false truths and lies,
So from their ashes they can be reborn and within new fire, rise.

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