I see, I see the place where Masters roam. But you and I could never mask their shine.
Were we lost at sea, we could see the sea as our own - come hell or high waters.
It's in the way they move, so far and wide with every stride.
I've practiced, yes; I can leap stairs one or two steps high.
Could we be so lucky? - are we so to coax steely heights?
I know, do you, too?
If not, then you belong not in Eisen's eye.
You see a glimpse of something so heinous, so devolved that you grab him by the arm in vain hope he stops. He croons the city's name through dreary eyes and a muddy shovel.
To your shock, his face spelled crazed, vindicated.
To become Them, to please Them.
What a person must be to Them.
YOU ARE READING
EISEN
Short StoryAn anthology of stories and poems loosely pertaining to the pursuit of a mythical city called Eisen. What someone might do, or have done to seek the answers bulb many of humanity's ugliest faces. Could the answer lie in you?
