From The Womb Of Fire, Entering Into Mirren's Palace Of White Gold, (30) Poem by Captain Cur

Emanating deep from the spatial ice
bountiful caves of phosphorescent blue;
the air within teethed with a charming bite
laced with the husky scent of earthen dew,
preserved inside glacial keeps hidden from man's view.
A nether world of visual amazement;
composed of sprawling layers of stalactites,
each one hanging with precarious strength,
elongated, reaching out with serendipitous length.

Sub arctic waters sculpted every cave
chiseling with soft strikes, all with skillful care.
In these freezing depths passageways were made;
hollowing caverns crushing weight would bear,
connected by white bridges suspended in mid-air.
If through a window light may gently thread
amplified by rays that merge and separate
then on walls of ice that drift and slowly bend
light would find receptive hosts aiding in its spread.

To be trapped in the heart of this beauty;
wandering lost paths of its icy hold,
beneath waves of a lifeless, golden sea,
sinking gorges with rocks of mountain snow
entering into Mirren's famed, palace of white gold.
It was built by the dragon's able breath
on an isle surmounting a chasm's deepest cold,
surrounded by the nothingness of death,
constructed beyond reach of its eternal descent.

Rivaling architects of old, this palace,
unroofed, exposing grand halls and crystal wells
filling hidden streams that surface and race;
these waters melted by her fire, boundlessly
reverberate through caverns carved by the dragon's spell.
Enchantment of this magnitude then pours
around boundaries of a petrified forest
carpeting the entrance to its thick hinged doors
where magic springs eternal and hope arises once more.