Valley Of Poison

the moorlands have a feel
not unlike the passing of the shade
in the lightless tides
timeworn days, infinities of age

caravan among the quicksands
on your way back down
unilluminated, guide you
to ruin

spires will mark the call
vestiges from ghosts that want us gone
pillars forming high above you
venom's sweetness

one with earth, the vines will take you
moon beams seek you not
to rest among the nightshades and soon
to ruin