Thrice the boom resounds through
the air,
Three times the earth shakes,
Of three poundings of the heart
Death comes mighty and fast.
A gleam of dripping white,
pasty wet pink.
A breath of fowl, putrid blasts.
Sounds of reverberating roars
and painful screeches.
A vision that has never been seen.
Feel the power of the ancients,
the fear in witness to such strength.
The inevitable comes on gargantuan jaws.
All is now finished as regret and
blood saturate the air.
What more mistakes must be made
in awaking the gate through time; never
to be opened yet tried again and again.
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