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The End is Nigh
The mountain rises, robed in red.
Her blood spent and spilled upon towering white gates below,
Now covered in burning bilge and bile.
That craggy spire now spurned and churning
Emits rivers of disease.
The March of the Dammned is nigh.
The townsfolk shudder and quail,
Their ribs give way, their lungs are pierced from within.
Kings rally their armies, their legions of doctors.
All to no avail.
Nature's fury hath been unleashed.
The very earth shakes with Her rage.
Great gouts of miasma explode from the land's fissures,
Hanging there upon the air to trap the unwary.
And so, society falls.
Yeah,
...that's how a cold feels. Society's end - for my next cold (aka flu and can't breathe) apocalypse vs. globe ultimately warmed :D - Lady A (p.s. enjoyed the dense image, well penned!)