Beyond

I can’t help but wonder what lurks beyond these walls,

Maybe a fairytale land, maybe a river;

A river of blood.

Where the peasants become the wealthy

And the wealthy become the peasants,

But they’ll all march to the guillotine.

Dressed in the very finest, their Sunday cloaks.

Soaked in their prayers.

Steamed with forgiveness.

And they’ll drop them reluctantly

Before prancing across the podium

To lose their heads,

Into a river of blood

Amidst a fairytale land.

I can’t help but wonder what lurks beyond these walls.

Reviews

[nostal]

The last line just comes off as a bit redundant. You have a chance to really strike the reader with the closing line.