Burning Myrrh

Six trees sit beneath six arches. In a glass wrought armory, obsidian. Scavenging for firelight, hobbling. In the ruins of a pillory, crumbling. Heart moved like dead leaves, Run raw with intolerance. Sand bubbling to glass, Time spent in aberrance. Cavern is empty Doorway is shut Land is in love Mingled with grief A billowing cataract on a long polished gem. Joints scream, stone boils from within. A Silmaril clutched underneath permafrost. Machines whirr, lonely dig belies the cost. A sigh of vapor rises amongst floral haze. Haunted arches resting soft betwixt their gaze. Cavern is empty, cold without meaning Doorway is shut, forever sealed Land is in love, heart moved like dead leaves Mingled with grief, union of aching Weeping ghost. Living warmth. Glowing blind. Pit of despair...