The Spire

By A. O. Wallat

City-slum, low and small
On rolling hill, the buildings still,
People strange and fevered, all

In the centre, towering tall
Black spire stands,
Directing all

Working metal
Welding, drilling
Sounds and screams
Like wailing children

In the centre, towering tall
Black spire stands,
Controlling all

Within the spire’s colossal sphere
Frozen ears and stolen tongues
Asunder, under blackened snow
Books,
Nature,
Bone,
Remnants of old and young

In the centre, towering tall
Black spire stands
Enslaving all

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