Forgotten Apollyon —
how might your bodiless
armies thrust baneful ships
on my shores. Thereupon,
call your hallowed patron
where He will soon eclipse
me with apocalypse.
Martyr me, to empawn
your blood-thorned crown as just?
Raid my temple with your
kind wars. My fate has struck
a final cord. I trust
to wash upon Styx’ shore—
The water has dried up.
