I ride out of the desert
and into the forest,
where my history is written.
The gatekeeper welcomes me to my city.
I am fearful to enter.
First I must walk through the house
where the beast that defeated the city
was born of the counsel.
A meeting is in session at the table.
I enter and am greeted
with honest grimaces of contempt.
With as much respect,
I continue walking while offering them my greetings.
I have yet to revisit the ruins.
In solemnity I remember the way to the ruins.
Navigating the routes, I am silent
and I finally arrive.
Skyscrapers tumbled and the debris removed.
The ruins are gone.
Burnt by the beast in pride and mockery.
The shock of their absence
seizes ownership of my consciousness
and collapses me upon my knees in tears.
The ruins were all that remained
of the blooming city.
The final sign of the city's once great power
perished along with them.
Future generations will never know
that the city ever was.
They may even construct their own cities
on the foundations of the old.
They too will see their cities crumble before long.
I weep at warnings overlooked.
Regret and shame are not present within me,
but a genuine sadness for those heights
never achieved.
I do not know
what the present would be
had I heeded the omens.
But I did not.
Visions of failure not acted upon will always become reality.
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