Spire

A tower grown from the Earth's bosom Its turrets standing high and proud Its peak reaches for the sun It grasps at every cloud Hundreds flock to stare in awe Its brick foundations stand the test of time Its golden roof ascended long ago Its ivory bells continue to chime The place is one of virtue Its spires built tall Yet it was not always so It was never like that at all. Some tell of its construction Dating back to the dawn of life Scholars debate of its origins But agree it was built in a time of strife Many years ago Before modern men dwelt under the sun Strange simians inhabited our world Longing to be in touch with the One A deity long since forgotten it was Said to live in its palace in the sky It gave the creatures a worthy life It blessed them with harvest rye. The simians soon became forlorn They were lost without its image Some devised a plan To seek the creator of their lineage. The construction began within the day And come the following year The simians had completed a structure That would bring them closer to the One whom they held dear The One looked upon Its subjects And saw that they lost faith Wishing now to only see Its face And ascend to the Eighth The Tower to the heavens was nearly completed When It sent a terrible plague And death unnumbered fell on the simians Making them realize their visions were vague. The One shunned them from Its glittering hall It sent them back to the Earth It sealed the dead and dying in their tower It made the heretics feel the true power. It was long ago decreed By the One in Its heavenly abode No servant is worthy to see Its holy image No beast nor bird nor toad. The tower still stands A testament to the ages And the dead simians still reside there Their story torn from history's pages.