Apathetic Personification

The littlest droplets of frozen blood told me,
"Litter the crop-less woven land once with ice,
And another with lice; stay back and let it be,
And be taken aback by the grayest forms of nice."

A peaceful village was once the home to a large ice monastery,
Where blissful people pillage the bones of those with dawn's money.
Even past death, one could not transcend beyond a measly yawn's mastery;
The breaths of ice ascended past those that society has deemed funny.

A hand-painted land with sand that when seen, instantly turned into ice.
My band of saints and their tight reprimands are all to me, tiny mice.
When me and my mice crossed this barren land, I have became feline;
I flossed my teeth to rid it of mice; the leftovers soon became mine.