It Dies Today

Can you hear them?
Their weary screams of agony,
Traveling back,
From the blackest regions of their hereafter.
You may have to hollow me
To understand this mortal blasphemy.
We are born of the blackest hearts:
We all are heirs to the morning star.
Do you hear the caitiff choir?
Faithful to none but themselves.
Now do you see them?
Can you see me now?