Dark Corridor
Lightly treading on the razor's
edge,
an obsidian pool of reflection
remains still except broken by that
deed unmentioned.
Stillness and purity exist here,
bought with the flames of
sacrifice.
All is quiet,
the Great Hall acquiesces.
Lined by monoliths,
austere and sterile
against the backdrop of night,
standing silent in defiance
of the day.
A great people raise their heads,
dust clinging
to the roofs of their mouths,
once beaten, longing for the day
of.
Hopes echo
against the walls and over the
plains.
Cloaked in dark night,
a blood moon delivers the faintest
light,
birthing contours of shadow
among the corridors’ rise.
No comments:
Post a Comment