Sure things face down bottomless pits
Waiting for the realm of change.
Through the abysmal gate they watch.
.
Iron wrought in chambers black,
Not withstanding their fitful knocks,
Grips the future as it twists.
.
Bending reality, thoughts rearrange
From a place within no longer intact.
Mending blocks inside this pot
Return to the spot they sit.
.
From nothing but this meager splotch
Centuries make a grand exchange.
Gazes glinting for those unlit.
.
.
.
Partial credits to _yellowAndblue_
For this wonderful piece!
Many hopes of future collaboration!
