Yggdrasil

Our happy home
It sits alone
On knolls of blue and green.
The residence
Has left its mark
Of grave insanity.
The archive waits
Under our feet
With growl and pitch and heave.
The one who goes
Ten lengths below
Is blind to daylight things.
What lives in there
Is monstrous stare
With claws that cease to gleam
In darkest night.
Check your delights
Below the old ash tree.

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Filed under poem, poetry

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