Mine this vein of ore.
Metal running through a sheet of rock.
Follow it to the point
where the shaft plunges into darkness.
Death will come, certain
as a caved-in path, the gasp of yellow throats,
the shower of carbon rock.
Life will snuff itself out, branding holes
where tiaras gleamed. Words will flee
while they can. Eyes gummed
with blood, you will sleep,
reaching for the tunnel at the end of the light.
From Absent Muses