The Iron Dream

The Iron Dream (October 1986)

Dark, sulphurous clouds hide the land
in shrouds, acrid and ominous
A red fog, glowing pours from the sewers
Dim forms are sighted moving stealthily
The touch of decay is on their fingers
The stench of the grave lingers
where their long shadows pass

I see it will not last
I see a new sun weakly seeping
at first, thin rays through a thick fog
I see the Sun's Son
strong and young as a new folded mountain
rise up like a Titan
from a shaken Earth
I see a wild, loose wind sweep
the stinking, clinging mist from the land
and, from this deep sleep of night -
I dream the Iron Dream