The Amber Voice
Slowly he stands,
Stone cold and grey,
Lifting himself like a fog
That breaks to unveil
What lies in the Underworld.
He rises but still
There rings the amber voice.
Uncertain as to its grounding pole,
He listens bemused by
What calls from above or below,
An intonation of uncertain oracle origin,
A riddle deeper than its reply.
Wild he laughs
And lights his morning smoke.
Stone cold and grey,
Lifting himself like a fog
That breaks to unveil
What lies in the Underworld.
He rises but still
There rings the amber voice.
Uncertain as to its grounding pole,
He listens bemused by
What calls from above or below,
An intonation of uncertain oracle origin,
A riddle deeper than its reply.
Wild he laughs
And lights his morning smoke.
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