Eidolon

What happened to the ghosts of the past?

They used to populate and engross our ranks

Such idyllic causes holding emblems of old

World hung in balance by their ethereal grasp

Such were the words and practices of old

What is to the beast now

Its churning stomach and empty desires

Eyes empty light sockets with an irradiated glow

Such emptiness in their choked sight

Shedding and rebirthing itself

Each time more grating and appalling than the last

It leaps and bounds endless across barren wastelands

Concrete graveyards of ambition

Collecting and swinging them on its back

They crumble and shatter in revelation

Each new birth of its beholder quaking the Earth.

Devastated and cracked is your idyllic scenery

Merely a blur in an endless void

It is prey of course

As is all who see fit to roam this land

But its predator is seemingly itself

Constant shattered temperance in a state of dissray

Stolen by its own shadow

Fangs snapped apart by the consuming practice

So it should be, roamer of this land

When this beast fells itself and lies wrapped in smoulder

Ready yourself for the steel abomination should it take its place

The pursed lips of abomination and exile

Will be of little significance when little is left but phantoms.