Before Oblivion, he halts for a brief moment,
His gaze suspended, frozen in the heavy air’s torment.
The dome shines bright beneath the shadowed mills,
Slowly purifying the ancient remains it fulfills.
In the distance, like ghosts marching under the skies,
Men walk, bent over, restoring broken ties.
In the ash-laden air, where a bitter wind sways,
Hope still fights to be reborn from the earth’s decayed rays.
