Empire

Shining up ahead,

On a mystical hill,

A story told for a century,

Heard by parading patriots.

You’re excited in youth,

As you’re driven in comfort,

By smiling parents,

Allowed the paid day off.

The line of cars stretches,

Glittering a rainbow of metallic,

Forged in rust and coal and dirty hands,

For so long you must depart and trek.

The crowd marches,

And you’re hand in hand,

Giddy with the cheers and cries,

That overwhelm and distract.

There’s a smile,

There’s another,

There’s a furrow,

There’s another smile.

As the walk wears,

And your senses calm,

Those beautiful lights,

Loom tall and high.

There are shadows by them,

Shifting and turning,

Directing the spots,

Onto the dots below.

You look up,

And those brave faces strain,

Made braver than before,

Stoning themselves up for you.

That land you’ve heard tales of,

Seems grey and battered,

And you struggle to recall,

These details in the books.

And though the hill is large and mighty,

And you’re happy to be ascending,

It’s at the hungry mouth,

You realise too late.

Those cries earlier were mourning,

Those cars are abandoned,

And the guards are searching,

For those who see the signs.

You’re shocked to see your steps,

Dragged closer to the edge,

Those loving hands that cradled you,

Are pulling demandingly.

That rainbow of beauty,

That calling shining hill,

Join you and the others,

Swallowed by the dark.

And in the howling descent,

Deafening you to the screams,

You learn too late,

This is the fall you were warned about.