A Horde that is Nomore

Surrounded and hounded and bound by a sound of a horde that is nomore.
Perplexed and vexed and trapped and taxed and skinned...
by an undisiplined
well plumbed city
where its waste is unseen--
so, unseemly is its destiny.

Plumed and assumed
in heart flexes the doom
soon to come
in matter that is batter;
see the ocean of the brains?

And an answer but too fancy
on the border the destroyer
dances coming as a friend
and transformer
no tears and pain and no mourners
for a horde that is no more.