World’s Blood

The skin cloaked savage, a corpse adorned - animal crown, king of the badlands. Flint and powder, tooth and claw - beasts on beasts back and death the law. The packs encircling its sister flesh - animal crown drifts from corpse to corpse. Leaders and lords, tribes and packs. The soil swallows crowned and crippled the same.

Submitted by Dahmers Fridge — Nov 12, 2025

A break in the sky, the horizon bled above - the dream was real, the storm gathered. The night rode on hellbound hooves, with vengeance in the saddle. A cracked whip, a grinding maw; a starved-eye stare and the weight of storms. No tomorrow! Only the trail - horseback, galloping to the pulse of the world. The thunder, the storms. A vengeance for the world's blood. A tower of flesh and bone - only blood for blood will sate the storm. At night they came, and brought with them thunder. A warcry for what was lost. At night they rode against oblivion, for a time that all forgot.

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Nov 12, 2025

Dusk, a primal vibrant red; violent. Clouds, seeping color - the crows cry out war. The plains, they tremble - anxious, the night brings blood. The cold bitter night, awaiting flame and fury. Swift like the night, the riders descend. The braves circle around; torches to the night, arrows to the dawn. The smoke marks an early grave, it rises with the sun.

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Nov 12, 2025

Rivers in the sky, a drifting cosmic quiet. Dry fields infertile, dying grass on bitter bone. A bastard, fostered patch of earth - the night in calm resignation as smoke meets the sky. Dreaming in waves, bleeding hallucinations. My veins extend, my blood is in the stars. The plains have not forgotten - the bitter winds forever tell. It rises red at dawn, and falls cold with the night. Carried through clouds, the great expanse. Displaced, my eyes need not see. Sky is all, separating. Land is lost, only away.

Submitted by Finntroll — Nov 12, 2025

Dust storm is clearing, the old familiar dream. I wave my seeing hand, asleep again on haunted land. Rode in on iron horses, their hooves that crack the ground. We water them in creeks of blood; no richer oil have we found. Hear the ghosts of the west - they burn them traincars down. As peddlers we trade in death; blood and gunpowder for a crooked crown. A nation, on no man's land; no nation, on graves will stand. A nation, will be thy end. No nation, for cursed men.

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Nov 12, 2025