A staircase of golden leaves

wraps around a tower,

one that crumbles and creaks

but manages to stand

against the northern winds.

Flutters of birds dabble

the sky with movement,

and the grasses are rich

with whispers and gossip.

Time yawns.

And then the earth rumbles.

Out of the pastoral land

bursts a cruel shriek,

cracked, thrusting a cut

deep within the autumn lake.

The world shatters,

and all that is left is you.

You, among the plastic

chrome and the bronze gold,

you, amidst the irrational

numbers and humming wires.

No one seems to remember

the sheathed microcosm,

just as immense, just as real,

hiding inside.


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