Magic Mountain

From beneath the distracted city the magic mountain rises,
in its shadow, the creeping fever;
seeping, scouring, soothing.
Within the ephemeral structure are the caves of belief and illusion,
made from turquoise and sapphire;
a blazing celestial spectrum.
Etched into the walls are the hands of grace,
the mysterious indigo reflection;
translucent and immense, pervasive and infinite.

To some the mountain is an angel, come to offer comfort.
To others it is justice, a warrior, forged by righteous fury.
And those who know the truth,
who live in isolation and on the verge of sanity.