Atop a remote ledge of chiseled amber,
Pointing to the westward horizon,
The invisible hand of darkness,
Conducting the dalliance of torment and reverence,
Towered above a quarry of broken misery,
Where smoke curled from the veins
Of petrified wood and stoic beams,
Which hung in a red cloud of weariness,
Slowly sinking into a bottomless cavern,
Carved by cascades of frozen torrents,
Long forgotten by the starlight,
The scent of briny sediment drifted,
Through the layers of history,
Filtering through the bones and tears,
As the land bellowed through horses’ manes,
Who’s hooves thunder over the scattered debris,
Where the rift laid waste,
And the wind brought forth,
The beginning and the end,
In the valleys of the black hills.


The Red Spider Nebula: Surfing in Sagittarius - not for the fain
Image Credit: ESA/Garrelt Mellema (Leiden University, the Netherlands),


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