Arcane Factories Vi

The icon fly's high watches all in absolute absence disdain. In the shadow of the Acadian machinery Man's industry belches black smoke. into a polluted bruised sky. Gears turn in arcane factories faces of white skeletal things wither watch absent heavens, staggering Along the windswept sea stretching to infinity broken bones of unimaginable Tyranny I see all as it once was in the mind's eye bleak landscapes of industry burn spires reaching to torch heaven, to touch the face of a forgotten god Oblong boxes burn like tombstones in a cemetery The orb of moons silver light trace Black sandy beaches Oily bruised waves crest I stand and scan the horizon a dark sea deep a lighthouse flares I note how the waste blinds me I feel the bitter ice of industry cut in my broken soul I can only fight to weaken from this nightmare...