Dark does this mirror speak,
Through an endless torrent running.
Long have seers of old stood before this deep river running,
Listening to endless murmurings of the Earth.
Each one, wiser than before presses a fur coated palm to the ground,
Sensing vibrations deep pressing in with all senses bare.
Here upon a plateau of ice between sister peaks of the Atrox range,
Only the weather-worn and half starved may truly understand.
Where ice meets sky and day grapples with night in gilded silence,
Mortal ears starve for knowledge.
Voices of the deep gather,
And these Seers of the North listen.
Tam de Tenebris.
Rocks crumble in the deep,
Shift at an immortal game.
Behold our elements have so fled into the wilderness,
A masked heir stretches forth hands so obscuring.
Even as an imperial bloom collapses,
A seed of rebellion is reborn.
Upon these sister peaks of the Atrox,
An age begins anew.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.