Underlord
the surface distrusts the dark judge
Lord of wealth and all who fancy themselves
master of the riches they hold, disregarding
its weight, the way it presses
into his service
treasure is drawn to its master and takes with it
all whose grasp does not loosen
glitter-blind, they do not recognize the hungry shades
they have become even while their hearts beat
still in sunlight
Dis scarcely notices: beside the pale, eternal denizens of his realm
daylit lives are vague and spurious
mis-remembered dreams of pain and pleasure
dragged by greed, borne by death
he is the earth into which they sink
he is the dust to which they return
(Apologies to those who were expecting underwear to the be topic of this post.)
The Daily Compost 