Towers Bend and Break and Bend

A storm of fire upon the hill,

A plain of snow, a holy land;

The word I send across the chill,

To ease the burdens carried still,

Is scattered in the flaming stand;

But I in agony remain

Within the storm I’d not create,

Without a foot to cross the plain;

For in my ball and weathered chain

The storm abound cannot abate;

Still I cling to open air,

Lifting Hell upon my back,

When towers in my brazen stare,

’Cross the plain, asunder tear

Through the hill an earthen crack;

Into the dark I see descend

Rock and river, snow and stone;

Towers bend and break and bend

Through a void without an end,

To leave the storm and I alone;

The stillness rises from the deep,

With voices of the fallen, bound

By burden lifted not by sleep;

Yet while I watched their crumbling keep,

A burning line of hope I found.