a phantom of sporadic thumping,
into the earth, into the earth
the repetitions droning like
the grinding of ice sheets
splintering off the cliff edges,
hazardous mountain hedges
as the great gods, or what's left
of their slow beating hearts
quiver with resonating sounds,
light shafts cutting, traveling,
plummeting into realms of dark
where the eyes skittle, flicker
like a faint candlelight now
awoken like a mighty jolt of thunder,
these great, great old gods
or whats left of them, some
unheard cousin, another dynasty
twisted in their crackling ways
they shudder to a startling wakefulness
and my, my what agony will
unleash over the cold, freezing realms
as their sheets of ice recede until
nothing remains but a skeleton
devoid of the beauty which once
blanketed at their children's feet