Screams.
Immersed in its longing for a #resurgence of youth__but has it ever known youth?
Who does the city pine for? Does it even know what it wants?
It does not care.
Not remotely. It remembers the imprints in its history; aeons of memories wrought on its stone, long before it was crafted and weathered atop sky_scraping structures.
The life of the inhabited city lasts not, even its death will scarcely be recalled.
The beauty of the non-life will manifest, as always.
The beauty of an iron stability will descend upon the city.
Soon.
#Dust will be dust. Stone will become sacred again. And the soil will feed on the city remnants.
Today, those who visited the city and foolishly claimed it home, have alighted to the place they were too afraid to comprehend, and yet belonged.
Lies. Fabrications. Manipulation.
It all becomes a masterful illustration___and yet, it all remains to be an illusion.
The city is not your home.
The city will last.
You will not.
Wake.
Comments
Post a Comment