Skiamachy

Millions of drowning stars hissing like mad

in the obsidian pupil of the night

kaleidoscoping the fell obscurity

mirrored in the fragmented darknesses

shade upon shade upon shade upon shade

painful spangles tinged with evanescence.

That all-encompassing pitch-dark amulet

immobile and marmoreal and above all there,

smothers me like a catafalque of black stone

but what would become of me without it?

Without its oceans of moaning cinders?

Let its shadows curtain the earth I tread.

Seeing the broken skies flicker and fall

behind the undying blackness of that horizon

no one knows how to answer that call

whispered at the exact dead of night

by an eye burning with thousands of lights

in the polished tranquillity of destruction.