Glass Eden

The gates exhale a hollow sigh,
no chains to lock, no voice to cry.
Yet still, I know—I can't go back.
The path ahead is stained with cracks.

Glass streets reflect a fractured sky,
violet wounds where echoes lie.
No wind, no birds, no breath but mine—
a hush that bends the threads of time.

A step. A crack.
A step. A scrape.

The sound repeats—too late, too near.
An echo lingers, sharp and clear.

A cathedral looms in silent grace,
stained-glass shatters in empty space.
The children stand, their voices hushed,
pale lips apart—but never touched.

No breath, no song, no whispered sound,
yet something stirs beneath the ground.
A shifting pulse, a buried weight,
a creeping hand that shapes my fate.

A smile.

A fracture, spreading wide—
the glass, the street, the world inside.
The walls lean close, the skyline bends.
The city knows how this must end.

At Glass Eden’s gate, another stands,
a rose wilts soft in withered hands.
They pause, they wait, they step inside—
a story lost, a fate denied.

A cycle turning, worn and thin,
the city waits to breathe again.