Beware, the mountain whispers,

here abide
the dragon-hearted.
who have no love--
men with shovels,
picks, and timbers,

Beware, the moutain sighs,

they who draw
the iron from my veins,
creeping through cracks
and cavern spaces,
drinking from
sunless streams
in limestone grottos;

The fey misshapen folk--
lords of fire and forge.
Hammering--hammering
they gleen treasure
from my hollow heart.

Their marble eyes
see a thousand shades
of black within
rock-bound vaults. 
Small fingers
like white worms,
pry rude jewels
from the clay
Kobald arms--
knotted like tap-roots
from the strain--
burrow and claw,
for elements of
a fever dream.

They mean to keep
what they claim.
and they claim
everything
sight unseen.