The captive city lays prostrate
powerless under a blanket of mist,
the rhythmic chanting, falling tears,
a mantra
spoken by the gods,
chanted in the creation of a new world
where mysteries float beyond vision,
where sounds flit by the ears,
where life unravels in the blowing wind,
and all is revealed.
The misty city, a paradise of illusion,
alive and erect on rotting poles,
hidden by the floating wisps,
the breath of the gods -
repressive swirls that cover the city
in a veil of wonder and awe,
an aesthetic vision of utopia --
decadent trimmings on a prison cell.
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