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Had to think about a poem I wrote a few years ago (actually around 2020) Too Late Trumpets fall silent Yet a destroyed wall remains God has spoken: This city shall no longer be Unheard in the joints of connections Dampness destabilized coherence Until the gravity both stabilized And pulled downward A sliding away on loose bricks The shattering of kettles that once drove machines Betrayed a decay too similar to the city itself Stones side by side Without the space between Fog-hidden towers No one enters anymore (Clammy dampness) Who could say how high they once held perspective Who could know a view from above would reveal The fractures that consumed our home I am disgusted Defiled spaces Thrown apart Without knowing their meaning Reduced to huts where palaces could have stood Smallest common denominator Composed of silence and betrayal Who tended to the city? Who, outside its spaces (Those who died away might have said) Could understand this erosion of cohesion? Headless Towers stand unmanned in market tumult Their foundations sold At fire-sale prices To avoid starvation In the city of trenches Where every trade sells itself Each stone becoming more stone Until warning trumpets Unheard before a collapsed home Fall silent
