It's The Dry Ice Fires

The World will be Consumed by this Fire,
of an Elemental Source,
the color of the hue,
clearly will envelope scene.

The value of such magnitude,
will dry the Mountains to the Valleys bottom,
release the Oceans to the highest shore,
and churn the lands to the deathly hallows of the dead walk.

The vary of no concern to this impend,
drives the roaming Wind to the arid firth,
the minds of mankind ignite the moralistically drown,
Human Beings cannot negate the fry.

The richest of the oxygen to breathe,
will be the remnant of Mother Nature,
the meld to the glacier heated the ice to temperatures smoke,
the driest of the lurking beach.

Each Shore shall grate the Leaves,
as the health of people be deeds,
the negativity bleeds the brains,
caught by the belly of the Tree.

Now the understood Time of Irons Age,
the hottest chill for the rockiest lines,
the Coins will befall the Gold to shine,
no money will filth the cry.

A Note to the Abled shrines,
the Church will claim the type is dimed,
an answer to the sound of sealed,
breaks to the buried deals.

Challised to the Cup of Words,
each Post to Dine in Feast,
the setting in the table yards,
the emptiness of Life so marred.

Consumers enveloped scorch,
a lightening brought a porched,
tethered to the foundlings lorc,
a Torched begin to singing lend,
the truth a spoken tend.

The grasslands are the Moors,
a marsh revealed no mire,
the Ancient Stones saw the clones,
a chiseled upper stand.

Verse in changed to brand,
the form of a numbered ring,
to applications that were purchased,
throughout the Centuries blend.

Watered pots show traveled rots,
the mold of conscious laden props,
the Melon scooped the broth of Shoots,
to exposing roots that sprawled,
into the garb age scorned to end,
entered Iron Age a shin.

Elbow bashed by eyeing smash,
the blacker of the blue in tack,
a rope of training for the pact,
the horse that broke all planned tack,
in the Wilds of speared.

No breadth of knowing platters corn,
it is sunk with fleets of born,
the Fish left Floating Carcassed signs,
to feed the ever dying rides,
the birds whistled a tone to steeps,
nothing changed the burning sheep.

Following the crowding clipped,
the brink fell to owning tipped,
again the pocket of the clock,
did not ring began but counter clocked,
a shrinking came to loot,
the body of the suite.