As I walk down the line

I look to my left and I see

The Lady of Mists rising out of the water.

She has started the Dance of Rain

With a white cloud billowing around her towards the sky.

The water comes up with a rise of her hand

The waves crash in an obedient blue surge.

Foam fizzes as it collects on her feet

A pure white unaffected by the son.

Her sapphire hair flows down her back

As a waterfall cascading to the ground.

Shes beckoning all that wish to come

Her eyes inviting those who see

Or wish to see.

In one hand she holds the Truth

In the other the Lies of Generations.

From her beauty radiates in an unearthly blue glow

The smell is sweet and deceptive.

Choose wisely which hand you pick, I was told

For truth is often sought but can it be found?

Still she beckons, but I have made up my mind.

I look ahead and continue to walk the line.



As I continue, I look to my right.

Rome rises up out of the darkness

The leaders are shadows without a voice

Their mouths open and spew wordless hate.

They are transparent, stacked on each other

As they look forward at the wall.

Made of dust, it flies upward

Their grand accomplishments flash before their faces.

Not so grandiose now that they have crumbled

As all temporary things do.

Indistinguishable, it is impossible to tell

One from the other, or whose they are.

Books and ruins are all that remain

Of the powerful regime that once was feared.

Suddenly it begins to transform before me

Familiar images flood my eyes.

Garish colors inhabit my thoughts

Corrupt feelings invade my heart.

Roaring monsters made of steel

Rumble by paper monstrosities erected on the side.

Flashing pictures ove