Sanguine colored limestone rises above cloud filled water,
like crimson spires guarding the gates of hell,
ever watching, ever waiting,
for the next unfortunate soul to appear,
Darkness surrounds,
an ink smear broken by the light created with the power of the battery
in a vain attempt to pacify, to placate, to resolve the gnawing fear that has grown,
Slowly, reluctantly the light shrinks to nothing,
darkness invades,
a coat of tar covering panic-stricken eyes, enveloping all,
Yet hope remains,
for the hint of spruce blasts by,
leading all through the dark recesses and into the light of day,
ending the quarintine of isolation inside the bowels of the earth.
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