Beneath

Fissures in the transgressed land

Open onto the world beneath the world

To the cradle of roots and the burning lava,

And that of more, yet to explore...

It screams of the pain; of the sinful world on its head

But tries to instill calmness with the longing dew, 

Changes in its forms;

Yet the one staying in it's true.

Home to the silhouettes, to grow further darker, 

And that of the dead, to rise

The place entitled to abandoned souls, the living are terrified of,

With possibly no hearts, still free of worldly angst. 

No mirrors to disappoint, 

And no faces to face

That of one's innumerable fronts

And speaks of his forgotten deeds, with every step he takes.