Ever deeper borne into the earth
guided by flickering torchlight
robes of fallen starlight descend,

Each marching with purpose, down into their caves
darker and colder as they fall closer to the underworld
communion beyond the veil begins beside their graves

Scholars write grimoires, studies of the absent birth
pondering on a tree that is both there and not, like smoke at night
magick in the roots reach for the surface like fumes, all upend

At first dozens and now hundreds, their chants roll off a religious tongue
beautiful choirs gather, their excavation of this new god
creates a calling, they will come when the song is sung

A tree of smoke that clings in reverse, roots dissipating against a cavern ceiling
the very reflection of an ancient tree that once existed, in another life
thousands fill tunnels to it, pull back their hoods, their eyes revealing
a great distrust of the illusion placed around them now, handling reality as gentle as a knife
carrying less of existence to and from their underground, upside-down cathedral
every time they face the feasible plausibility that this is not real at all
weaker in the presence of that tree, back to their shrinking world they crawl
one that has tarnished in their view and lost much majesty, everything is so grey and small
in their minds this is a revelation, not a lie or deception, but something they could never see
their great appreciation, amassed they bend and break in ceremonies, dropping to knees
all to wail, to sing, to bless and bleed before the branches of their tree;
forthwith from the leaves in the fervor of madness beat the wings of a dark fairy.