Watchtowers

Man stand guard with irons walls barred.

Resolution stone hard. From a shield beaten and scarred.

Behind these great walls, beyond these halls.

The echoing of roll calls, what is it all?

That we have built or own prison, that was not the purpose of the vision.

The castle upon the hill shining the beacon of light through the prism.

But the truths it told, we did not want to listen.

For wise kings do not rule absolute, not a piper that plays the flute.

words that ring truth, not .

strength but not brute.

The marble turns to granite.

The sword in the stone into a gauntlet.

free spirit becomes the ghost haunted.

truth seeker becomes the wanted.

Our spires become watchtowers.

The feeding hand became devoured.

The flock became scoured.

Mother's milk became soured.

With hope, not lost nor gone.

But found in our children's songs.

The sun to all our wrongs.

In those brief reflections of sorrow, we can build a better tomorrow.

And replace that empty hollow, and light a new path to follow.