reply to post by sonnny1
(The lights barley flickered down Wallstreet. Faint glows mirrored the granite steps all around, its flight, haunting the skeletons left there.
No one left to bury the dead.
No one left to protest, but wind.
Millions had marched.
First, Down Broadway, near the Police Museum, through the once bustling Wallstreet center, and beyond .
Laying tattered, the once proud flag, that draped the steps of the mighty economic fortress.
Its remnants, held tightly, in the hand of a withered corpse.
How could they have known? How could the voiceless been so ignorant?
The Bull rocked from its foundation, the crippling horns embedded into broken concrete-like so many other things, this once proud city held onto.
Now, the price of it all.
Its still beating heart, never again... clutching the exposed ringing of the daily bell.
Protesters, and workers, and people. Yes, the people.
"Kings we make of them, fools we are to become" the sign read.
This soul was right. His voice though, silenced, like the many around him.
Death could not have been avoided. They knew.
Its price of grandeur, its inept freedom,whisked by the sudden death, that doomed the many... the one.
The guillotine of wealth... came calling.)----------
How does this look to you?
edit on 14-10-2011 by TsukiLunar because: (no reason given)