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...
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