As I walk down the line
I look to my left and I see
The Lady of Mists rising out of the water.
She has started the Dance of Rain
With a white cloud billowing around her towards the sky.
The water comes up with a rise of her hand
The waves crash in an obedient blue surge.
Foam fizzes as it collects on her feet
A pure white unaffected by the son.
Her sapphire hair flows down her back
As a waterfall cascading to the ground.
Shes beckoning all that wish to come
Her eyes inviting those who see
Or wish to see.
In one hand she holds the Truth
In the other the Lies of Generations.
From her beauty radiates in an unearthly blue glow
The smell is sweet and deceptive.
Choose wisely which hand you pick, I was told
For truth is often sought but can it be found?
Still she beckons, but I have made up my mind.
I look ahead and continue to walk the line.

As I continue, I look to my right.
Rome rises up out of the darkness
The leaders are shadows without a voice
Their mouths open and spew wordless hate.
They are transparent, stacked on each other
As they look forward at the wall.
Made of dust, it flies upward
Their grand accomplishments flash before their faces.
Not so grandiose now that they have crumbled
As all temporary things do.
Indistinguishable, it is impossible to tell
One from the other, or whose they are.
Books and ruins are all that remain
Of the powerful regime that once was feared.
Suddenly it begins to transform before me
Familiar images flood my eyes.
Garish colors inhabit my thoughts
Corrupt feelings invade my heart.
Roaring monsters made of steel
Rumble by paper monstrosities erected on the side.
Flashing pictures ove