8 – The City Lost

Bones suffer the strain, violent in their cage
Writhe with blood that blots out the sangrophage
Thoughts collide to form visions of their past
Flows as clean as veins can, then overcast
By clots, grotesque from birth to modern age

Noise shatters the scene, breaking in its wakes
Earth to dust and ground that cracks undertakes
Their coffins and live corpses to a grave.
Paths that part and branch en masse misbehave
Yet they cannot hide ways the destined take

Shine brilliant for him, city of the dead
Crypts now void old, young, poor and figurehead
Mad design made to define him as tick;
Bugs on back of light and life majestic
Shy off, away from where the walkways led

Stone caves convert to homes and hovels far
From the beauty that burns at sorrows scar.

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