Sparkatale

Deep and dark your prison's walls descend,

Far beneath the blissful surface glow,

The sound of iron clanging fills the air,

As deeper still the walls descend below.

Such darkness creeps upon your withering eyes,

As deeper into earth your home descends,

Yet still you shade your voice from human ears,

In case your troubled cries should dare offend.

And, as those rising walls grow higher still,

Your buried soul falls into mournful sleep,

For hope is but a dream of years gone by,

As fading light gives way to endless deep.