TOMB

There sits, before an altar of stone, trusses fashioned of bone with diamond encrusted ligaments. They lay their shackled hands above the hovering tomes, feeling the energy of the amassed black words. And within their inner eye the words would seem to stream out like tangled serpents tongues; hissing and vibrating, just waiting for one of the spectres to vomit them out in a density of vowels and consonants. The words when separate had no particular attractiveness but when linked together, managed to hold a sudden pungence of pervasive allure. As the tomes are filled and digested and refilled and redigested — an ever ongoing process — the binding swells and darkens…brightens, cracks and contracts… going from deep black — the deepness of a black diamond where no light escapes — to the brightest of white, spewing forth the light it once held captive. Their colour a liquid not only shades of grey but vibrant crimsons and ceruleans . . .