Harvest

Dying creature giving it's last breath
Warmth giving way to cold
System received a command to terminate
And the last strings is cut

Corpse, an empty vessel
Carried to the lone cliff
Left there under the acrid sun
For the vultures to feast upon

Awakened in a strange realm
Where the flames are real
Behind them, in the dark
Lurk creatures of the great dread

Although their appearance seems strange
They are very same
That have been nurtured
By the one they are to torment

There is no escape from their claws
No one will come to take them away
Suffering in their horrid embrace
Until they have fed enough

Flowers from the seeds
Now bloom in all their horror
Reaping what once was sown
Harvesting the bitter crop