When the sky began to
fall,
it was not for want
of mighty Atlas trying
to hold it. It was
simply too
much arduous weight,
on torn and world-weary
shoulders. Shrapnel
rained down
on the foot-sore
soldiers of
a wild and never-ending
war. In the
face of defeat, they
stood
and fought
their battles
that had no
conclusion;
blindly followed the tattered
flag
into confusion and a restless
sleep. Chain-mail
and armour could only
keep
sharp weapons
from piercing their hearts;
the holy cosmos had
fallen
apart and planted
star-seeds of doubt;
watching, they saw the danger
had eaten them all,
from the inside out.
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