By Zach Spencer
A grand narrative speaking of towers and gateways to what seems another world. An enormous shell encircling the city like vultures to its prey. The speckles through the city, white like snow falling through show the slums and tents crammed in the middle of the lords and ladies that control the land. A spider web of streets all leading to the center, leading to the sun. The dark and stony sun that all dream to have but dare not take. Drawing to it all the wonder that a city would have. No one knows that this world, this bustling city is just a mask. Only the surface of the true city. Beneath that stony maze of streets and houses lies a larger labyrinth. Tunnels and stairwells leading to small caverns dimly lit with oil soaked linen torches. Each capsule of dim light incubates lost souls banished from the great city above. Each soul seethes with bitterness and anger at the thought of their light soaked brethren, feeding off all the gifts that fall into their laps from those long arms of god, while they, in their prison, are forced to feed on waste and excess thrown to them through slots like scraps thrown to hounds chained to entry ways like they to the gates of hell. Through the winding tunnels spiraling down into pits of embers and coals, do these poor and pitiful peons when these thoughts of their prison become too much to bear. Allowing these poisonous thoughts to be just that and darken their minds like storms, clouding their judgment, so they hurl themselves into the glowing fields of fire and bursting into dancing flames in form of their key. Their escape. Their release. Their freedom
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No poetry by faculty/staff members for today's posting.
