The River of Black Glass

The River of Black Glass

It runs beneath, the broken hills.

A river wide, of shattered glass.

Its surface shines, with frozen fire.

Its depth is blind, without an end.

I kneel to drink, the shards draw blood.

The water burns, my mouth with silence.

It cuts my throat, yet leaves me living.

It feeds me pain, but not release.

The river speaks, in whispers low.

It tells of graves, it tells of fire.

It calls my name, it drags me down.

Its current binds, my soul in glass.

And when I rise, my skin is broken.

My veins are filled, with shards of night.

The river moves, it takes my form.

I walk as glass, I shine with death.