“The Black River” by The Voice before the Void

“The Black River”

The Voice before the Void

flows out of a black sun
and through a land of ash and obsidian.
Ambition
drowns in the river,
filling its lungs with black water
and floating its corpse onward.
Creatures creep on the plain
cut by the river,
lit by nothing,
killing occasionally,
dying inevitably.
The corpses draw carrion-feeders
from black mountains,
flying,
diving,
feasting
upon flesh sweet with regret,
rotted by hope.
Black grass grows,
blown by no wind,
tall,
tall,
tall,
so that a traveller
crossing the plain
can not see
but smell only
the river of silth and sunsewage.

Why do you seek that river, traveller?
Why do you sneak from golden cities
to cross that black plain
of ash, grass, and obsidian,
shadowed by black mountains,
blacklit by a black sun,
out of which flows
water unright,
stinking with the plight
of travellers unnumbered
who died before you?
Why?
They, we, I
hope you die,
traveller,
killed by the creatures who eat
childs like you,
or choked
by the fumes
of stench
stiling sullen in stulty air.
Nay,
we need not hope,
for your death is certain:
black grass
through obsidian cracks
and air/lung-clogging ash
cut, choke, and claim
every one
seeking
the river
of black,
and carrion-feeders feast.
Why, traveller?
Why?

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