Hemlocked Heart

Westbound in a dusty smoke cloud
I fought the ever so hushed sounds

Of a sacred time lost long before
When I first locked the carriage door

Willfully oblivious to the call, so loud
That overcame vast compliant crowds

To reveal gleaming troves so much more
Radiant, resplendent, an age old lure

Such patterns carved by winter winds
Harsh and heavy, they bit and clawed

Into iron, preserving the sacred whisper,
Cross barren lands, I can, I will be heard.