VII

Cliffs of gold,
Canyons of Bryce rise from 'the creators' feet.
His hand graces the sky—
Smearing the clouds of white,
Across the sea of blue.

His vision pierces the ground,
With light splashing on the canyons of Bryce.
Broken times,
And shattered dreams break a winners spirit.

People have braved this land,
And crippled them to nothing.
Nothing has scared me worse than the pits,
Of burning fire—
Water with a spirit, with the memories of a thousand deaths.
This is where the worst pains imaginable exist.

The dead of a billion worlds have arrived in this place,
And all they can do is 'scream',
For pain is all they can feel.

This is what I have known,
And do not want to feel again.