Beneath the silent ruins, time’s vast hand
Unweaves the visions dreamt in every land.
A city’s heart, once vibrant, now lies bare—
Its towers fallen to complexity’s snare.

We build from questions, restless and deep,
Inscribing fragile order where mysteries sleep.
From shifting wants, we claim what cannot remain,
And conjure worlds no wisdom can sustain.

Each golden age, beneath its gilded dome,
Is cursed by the fault lines hidden in its home.
For every rise in structure, art, and scheme
Gives birth to tensions that unravel what we dream.

Complexity, that double-edged, dazzling lure,
Draws from us labors none can long endure:
To feed the center’s ever-hungrier pyre,
We chase shrinking margins, seeking heights still higher.

Diminished now, the promised gains decay,
As costs eclipse the progress of our day;
What once was wealth dissolves to needs unmet,
And faith in kings drowns in shadows of debt.

The sacred center, source of law and peace,
Grows dim as promised blessings slowly cease.
Does order bind us for the common good,
Or veil the few where shadowed powers stood?

So, in the end, the threads of order wear thin—
From unity to fragments, kin against kin.
The walls dissolve; the world grows small once more,
And those once held at bay, reclaim our shore.

In the fall, silence settles on temples of old.
From the ash of ruin, a harsher order takes hold.
Hunger claws through ash, old ties torn away—
The cycle turns, while dusk replaces day.

We sift the dust for lessons from our downfall,
But carve out new empires mirroring it all.
Each warning etched in ruin, we choose to ignore:
The future’s foundations rest on the dead once more.

What scaffold now for dreams, when earth rejects mankind,
When the seasons fracture, and the old ways unwind?
No seed takes root in soil stripped of design,
And all that we tend is surrendered to time.