Absinthe dreams of blood tipped white roses falling

My first attempt at fantasy poetry be kind.... It's to late for some to pass through the fire failing to feel the flame. Yet faith filled the devout shall walk the path and feel no pain. Consumed into brazen ash those so filled with fear-undoing all which should remain. And that which stands still strong with the passing of the azure fire shall prevail against all which yet remains of the twisted remnants of darkened putrid sires. Twisting in torrential flames as judgment shall prevail and those faithless cowards pass through mirrored halls of doomed spirits walking forever in a livng dark carnival of our fleshy, bloody labyrinth of the soul, lost, desolate and all undone-trapped by there own vile selfishness, they find themselves forced to watch as all they ever loved is lost, washed away by eternal tides of fate til nothing yet remains but there tattered dreams of the faded past and sad pathetic glories lost.   Sanguine tides rise above the lies of those fool enough to wake the slavering beast, padding on silent feet through the night, scenting its sickly prey, which only to late shall realize the doom which they have wrought, the final cost, a price paid in blood and dreams, rent and torn, till no more shall remain. Oh torment, oh torments of thou obsessed damned will be just the start of the path upon which they have begun but words be words and words alone harm none, but thought oh thought shall be the coin with which they pay the price for there transgressions agianst those of the blood and faith.  What is rest but all that they have wrought, the dreaming of the soul which flies free upon the wings of  penumbral night is lost, while the eternal cost of those whose wrongs shall be made right remain tattooed upon there tainted breast, health a frail and useless thing of flesh, nothing of use upon this trail of punishment which must be paid and those who've wronged those of the blood shall feel the Wrath of dragons breath leaving only the stain of there dire deeds, the stain which they have sought, a mark burned forever unto the earth. Where nothing clean shall grow again.  The eye which sees the demons deed and chooses not to pass that way with fear upon his heart shall find they have chosen to bear a cross upon there heart leaving only shadows of empty souls filling that place where seeds of dreams once born, no chance now for life or growth.  Just still life pictures of the blank minds will show the remains of darkened forests, mired in swamps of maimed souls, screams of a torn and sundered throat, lost amongst a haunting dream of the pain of a thousand years, twas a bloody moon rising over twilight touched sands, themselves remains of once mighty mountains lost over epochs of time, as water rising untouched in it's antediluvian tide to find praxis the only true design for apotheosis fails to fall upon the shadow of those whose desire to rule there betters find there steps dogged by the hounds of hell ending only in that final line of the sad demise of those who could have been so much more. Seeing only to late to come AGIANST those of the blood cannot stand and face such as I, for we have dreamed of far off worlds from before the fall. Our thoughts the seeds of wonder phantasmagoric memories of aeos past, planted upon the soil of time and space to bloom and blossom into a thousand dreaming worlds of wonders and phantasmagoric miracles. Flying upon dragon back over opalescent cities of our island world, crystal towers rising up into the clouds. Sun glinting upon iridescent scintilating scales, all seeing cerrulian reptile eyes sees those twisted ones who seek to ravish the chosen of the blood, die upon bloody claw and fang hearing only the thunder blast of wings swept up in spiral flight before life is shed, soul torn from flesh to serve eternal the sons and daughters of the dreaming city, minds flying free from immortal flesh, to watch the birth of this young world.