Costs of devising the dead

Midcourse the mid-day the sky went midnight,
With force a display, loud cracks it ignites.
Strange shapes, on the rise, that are splashed by the light.
The dawning dismay when out come the wights.

Lifeless they lumber in march through the mess.
Tightness encumbers each lurch and each stretch.
Crisis! They hunger a thirst so immense,
Guileless, unstructured, obsessive intent.

No breadth amongst this battalion that bred,
From wealth unjust, and a balance upset.
The wights have swelled, while a malice has spread.
Now learn the costs of devising the dead.