The Towers Sway

This city is a ghost town.

it’s a glassy graveyard,
with mile-high
ghost tombs.

The towers sway, soundless.

King and queen, crown-less,
carefully rule.

Tombstones… glow
with reminders,
reflections of lost days…
buried in the sewers,
so the graveeaters
and carrion-stealers,
can’t carry away
the rot

that holds us under. Pray

the rattled whisper,
our near-silent warning,
reaches the travelers –
sadly, our stones fail to show it.

“Welcome home!”

Those dirty, glassy faces
are all cold and hard.

But, in their eyes,
my epitaph is carved
in spider-web cracks,
bullet holes, and the regrets
of a misspent life.

Push around the dirt.

Hope to catch the glint.

I kept robbing the tombs,
looking for jewels,
but all I ever found
were fallen shards of glass

and not a single skull
staring back with eyes

of rubies.

©️ Obol, 2020.

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