The Scryers

Stand and speak in tongues of fire

stories of the last flame in this desert world

laid to ruin when the many waters receded

and its fertile valleys filled with dust and sand

Now dimly glows the flame as darkness comes

and the winds blow bitter cold to snuff it out

Melted wax pools reflect the dying light

and the scryers crawl forth to gaze beyond

into prophecy of a broken sky and raining blood

New life from clouds that hang as the corpses

of many worlds fallen into one

collected now among the wandering dunes of this desert

Ever had your fortune read? What did they tell you?

Photo by Fernando @cferdo on Unsplash

12 thoughts on “The Scryers

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