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The Gate
January 7, 2011
I stand tall and intimidating.
A fugitive before a grand jury.
I see the people walk in order, oblivious to the coming danger.
I hear the sounds of the coming danger.
I hear the sounds of people crying, begging to be reunited.
I can taste the chilled wind against my steel.
I smell the burning bodies.
I cannot let them escape.
They talk amongst themselves like a depressing forum.
The buildings and barracks speak to me of their horrors.
It makes me sad to know they cannot escape.
It makes me sad to know…
They’re dying.
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