Omen
A man faces the same wall, spreads his fingers, and places both palm and head on the bricks. No matter the age. The intended era. Or the records may state. The suffering of time will crush the sea. Waves dying before teaching the shore. The fear of tsunamis lost. The wall shivers with relief, but that single man knows a little bit more. A needles sits there, and the bubble may very well mistaken temporary stillness for defense. The bubble will pop. The bricks cascading down, and only the wind will enjoy relief. Unobstructed sky ways grasping freedom. Mankind sits in the middle. They face the demons within. The creatures of the deep. And the gazelles are hunted. Bucks shot down by glints in the wasted wilderness. Primordial is a joke when our hands touch that wall. We feel. We think. Construct to obscure fading alleyways. Walls closing in. History nipping at those demons. Feed the flames. Coals glow bright. Then in the middle of town. A saga sings. Tavern drinks. Sheltered malls. Religi...