The Citadel of Sol
Her eyes were terrified, a glint of light,
A resistance pulled from seven years of night.
Her heedful name inched through the city’s roar,
To meet us at the salvation’s open door.
The tether snaps as shadows pull the weight,
Beyond the reach of some forgotten gate.
The rhythm climbs, a jagged, rising stair,
Until we find the pulse that's waiting there.
The pavement hums beneath a fractured sky,
Where neon ghosts and hollow echoes die.
The city’s breath, a heavy, rhythmic beat,
Now drags the past across the crowded street.
The iron rusts where once the silver shone,
A hollow kingdom on a vacant throne.
The probes drift cold through silence, vast and deep,
While ancient ghosts of childhood secrets sleep.
The children weave through dungeons, bright and bold,
To turn the rusted iron back to gold.
With practiced hands, they mend the broken wire,
And lift the soul above the frozen fire.
The silver towers rise from seeds of trust,
To shake the starlight from the rising dust.
A father’s dream, a mother’s quiet prayer,
Builds marble halls within the empty air.
Red rings of dust and Jupiter’s vast gold,
Are stories that our youngest hands will hold.
From Triton’s ice to Venus’ heavy glow,
We watch the seeds of ancient promise grow.
The city fades to starlight, thin and gray,
As gears of iron melt in light of day.
The home we find is not a place of stone,
But where the pulse of love is clearly known.
