In The Red Mountain Poem by Christoph Praus

There is on top, the world,
A mountain tallest, red skied,
Black stoned fort, terrible cubed,
Wormholed deeply tunnels twist,
A yawning gap abyssal vast!

And in its bowelled grasp,
In ever darker damply maze,
In the endless pit,
It stirs wetly;

It shrieks! How it shrieks!
Another wet thump echoes,
Sliding along the nameless corridor,
Crawling, agonisingly into the light;

And the world cracks,
It's yolk red, like the skies,
And it shrieks,
Unto us all.