A vision of destruction,
With tiles of black and white
Mirrored in all surroundings
Through a blurry set of time.
Disrupted by sudden movements,
Of statues with a plastered frown
Who crave all the attention,
Yet cannot stand alone.
Like a struck of lightning tremble
Creates fears of the unforeseen.
Just a little flick of colour,
Makes the vision seem unreal.
For the scattered little statues
Have not seen but black and white
Just a flick taint in this time doom
Turns the frowning stone to dread.
But ghosts within the darkness,
look out past all the obscured.
Slipping briskly from all strangers,
And seeing the greatness that lies beneath.
By mirroring no change
But the ghosts who outflow buckles
Are exposed to light and bright.
What was it that they called it?
Wasn’t it safety that they said?
What a paradisiac doom!