Of Great Cities

There is a story of a cart,

Shambling and rocking,

Across a parched path,

Outside the gates of a city;

A once great city.

The cart is pulled by a donkey,

Flea infested and sickly,

Likely to last a week,

Before it sleeps by the road,

Left alone.

Next to the potted fermentation,

Hiding trinkets to barter,

Sits a young boy,

Aged by the screams he heard,

And will hear for miles to come.

With a limp grip upon the reigns,

Swaying with the sloping dirt,

Is his aunt,

Unable to not look back.

The walls of beckoning limestone,

Bright in the breaking dawn,

Though cracked and plastered in gold,

Hide the smoky scorched edifices.

Satisfied by her disappointment,

She turns back to her new home,

A city taking in the needy,

Worth more in work and brothels,

Than generosity costs.

This story was written in a census,

Studied in halls of knowledge,

With banging doors and booming orders;

Another great city falls.

#HI