Westward

To the west on a small hill

 

Is a wall that stands there still.

 

It’s not magical,

 

Or made with jewels.

 

It’s old and impractical

 

Made with outdated blunt tools

 

The wall’s a statue,

 

And those far and near

 

Know the ones who had built it

 

Had once lived on this blue sphere.

 

They used to be there

 

On the world’s pages

 

But the city was quite square

 

With no alchemists or mages.

 

T’was just a city,

 

A world that stood tall.

 

But it crumbled, what a pity,


Leaving nothing but the wall.

 

- Nicole Zamlout