The Tower Picture 1

It rose from the frozen seas. It has ramparts of blackened gravel. It hovered o’er the domain as a dark souvenir. We were all being observed, judiciously scrutinized. Its windows of radiant cerise are an oculus unto our actions. It stood high above the flat lands as the battles waged. It oversaw the scores of bloody deaths on bleak glaciers. It stood as the drab clouds congregated in the backdrop. It endured as the wars came to a conclusion. It suffered along these desolate lands without inhabitants. It relished the deep caress of the sun. It never quivered in the frozen void. It has tirelessly composed the tales of its observation. It continues to define our penalties. It will govern if we ascend its stairway to the heavens. It regulates the descent into the halls of hell’s fiery pit. It is erected as more than a turret. It is the one to whom we should aim our pleasantries. It forsakes your kings and queens as they are not the latter rule. It is this tower that we owe our eternities to.