Condemnavi

In the dim mists, a place exists, An ancient world that resists, The ravages upon itself bequeathed, In the green misty fog in which it is wreathed. To hide the pool of the never-ending, That shows of turmoil and the rending. At once like a spiral tower of a keep, And with uncounted fathoms it is so deep. So are the fountain and the pool, All humane and yet are cruel. The fountain in the air starts to die, Then I realize it is I.