The caverns,
so dark
so dreary
such a shame
the view
may have been
mesmerising.
Stalactite sharpened
to a fine point
like a quill
used to write
letters of love
and courtship
every day.
Above the horizon,
the constant drip
of water echoes
against the
brown dusty
walls,
a pool forms
as clear as
wine glass.
The sound
of breathing
mockingly
mimics the
howling wind,
the chilli air
shares
a hug with a
touch
that settles
its frost
into the bones.
The caverns,
with only a peel
of light is
let through,
the pebbles
crumble
underneath
the feet,
the bridges
connect
two darker
places like
a stitch
tied over
a blistering
wound.
This is
the abyss
that abaddon
has abandoned,
and it may
just be the most
peaceful
place.