A Clean Abyss

A cleric was transported to a great polished hall
It looked suitable enough
There were fires burning in the distance
Holy and magical

No reason to approach them
They would always burn
Bright and blurry

Locusts buzzed around the wavering orange hats
But suddenly ceased their apathy and spread themselves thin
Across the polished chamber

The cleric didn’t know much
Didn’t see much
Only orange head ornaments dancing mockingly
Behind nature’s harbingers

Kneeling by the couch didn’t help
Kissing the floor put fire into the cleric’s mouth
Everything seemed for naught
If only the light reflecting off recently cleaned surfaces
Could be of service

Polish

 

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