Etched In Glass

by Alice Markley

A little city, trapped in a prism of light,

Built with such care, wrought with pain and delight.

Surrounded by glass, visible to all

Untouchable perfection, details so small.

Marvelous city, everyone's city.

Made by all hands, bearing the marks of so many.

No one man its creator or ruler to call,

So it was made, so it was governed by all.

In its youth it had struggled, as all things must do,

Tumultuous leader razed, the next replaced too.

Parts of it fell, shaken by quarrel and strife,

But they were rebuilt, working together toward life.

Year after long year, time finally finished its work.

Man had learned together, the city was perfect.

Built with meticulous time, it was full of time,

Roads of the past, and future's towers fine.

Arches woven of empires long gone,

Windows that peered into empires to come.

Man took pride in displaying what was passed,

And hope in the future that he had guessed.

The city encompassed all times, peoples, races,

It was one with itself, perfectly unified in all places.

Man would choose its ending as he had chose its beginning

A symbol of man's power and what he was capable of achieving.

It its prison of clearest glass that gleamed,

Its towers reached as high as man could dream.

As low as man could stoop was its earth,

A declaration of what man was worth.

In its bubble, the city was self-sustained.

Needing nothing but itself to keep it maintained.

It was a glory to behold, an envied work,

The city was perfect, man was perfect.

And the little city, etched in glass, belonging to all,

Finally reached the end of its plummeting fall.

The city of man, glorifying all that mattered,

Upon reaching the ground ... shattered.