Icon of Phobos - Harbingers of Ruin

It was the wounded beast who stole and drank,
The engrossing liqueurs from the chalice of consternation,
A sickening aftermath of human conflict.
Spiraling towards the via dolorosa.

Seething venom rushing,
Clambering up the vessels of existence,
Until Purity delivers them down (down) and further away from poise.

The harbingers of ruin,
Auspicious to distress.

Humanity is churning in vials of (its own) disposition.
Man-made toxins issued from barren limbs,
Dripping in pools reflecting the impotent.
Drowning in oceans of pus and ichor from a cretin come undone.

Human degradation...
There is no cure - no reprimands.
All certainty has fallen into the wrong hands.

The harbingers of ruin.

Reaping the treasures of God's creation,
Those who pilfer the cornucopia of relief,
To drink their fears- ingesting alms of our disdain.

The harbingers of ruin,
Auspicious to distress.
Bask in our Cancer, our blessing unto Mankind.