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Candlelit Green
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The Folklore Furnace Deep beneath the oily earth gates,
Far away from the icy laps of cold breeze,
Miles apart from the whispering pecks of moving lips,
A grotto fit only for a fish exists in the water.
An ancient citadel of a place, hidden in cool green,
With mossy brick pillars and statues dormant and still,
In small shallows of breathable space,
Weeds slime and water trickles like pretty music,
Fresh and clear exists the secret world,
Undiscovered by all but us,
A palace of purity, a castle of crystallized clarity,
We light a candle in the rippling pool,
Hold it up to the dappling rays of seeping sun,
And pray for more grottoes and glens,
In which to imagine our perfect world.
