The steps were laden,
right up ahead, the guide leads us out of this safe haven,
that had us on lock down, initiation was not a sound that we recognised in our imaginary towns.
…unable to make steps to progress, till the price of what we would lose was less,
we took a deep breath, digest their stories, their unspoken stress and all that they compress
just about ready to undress the layers of mess that drew colour from our own selves,
at last they had completed the relentless spin of these webs,
ensuring that bugs would infest, a gathering of supplies in an attempt to be the best.
In these pests we lost interest,
as the tides of time eroded our nests and slowly the charcoal crumbled we were blessed, with these mirrors that reflect…
… right back to us what we confess, into this spinning globe and all that remains locked tightly away in our chest,