The Last Bastion

Isn't it interesting my dear

How a smile, a grin

from ear to ear

Can make everyone look away.

They come and they scrutinize

they examine and delve

and determine the size

Without ever knowing what is within.

 

In a way, it is like a sun

they take it for granted 

and accept it when the day is done

But how little they know about it.

Interesting, how no one cares to dig

to excavate and examine

and realize how big

It all really is. 

Not that they care of course.

They take it as it is, and leave it be

Not worrying that the source

may not be as big as they hoped it would be.

I look out, from within the hollow, empty halls

of the Last Bastion at the land beyond

the cheerful land that is kept out by these thick walls. 

No one is allowed in. 

My Bastion is big and it is strong.

Meant to last a thousand years past any other. 

The walls are thick and the hallways long,

made of rock and steel and Iron.

A final question is made

by myself to myself

In the wings that provide shade.

A question that I shall ponder for a thousand years past any other?

Where is the key. Where is the coal. Where is the heat. Where is the beat. 

This Last Bastion has no Heart.