Echoes Of The Fading Wall Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The screen glows bright with neon dreams,
A gentle place where nothing gleams
Of weight or work or heavy cost,
Where sense of self is slowly lost.

They drift through days of soft desire,
Unmoved by hearth or ancient fire,
The words of 'duty' fall away,
Like echoes from a distant day.

They build their castles out of glass,
And watch the living seasons pass,
Blind to the storm that gathers near,
Wrapped in a cloak of polished fear.

The elders whisper, bibles read,
Of prophecies and seeds of dread,
While those who shun the sacred light
See portents in the coming night.

Is this the crumbling of the wall?
The final act before the fall?
When pride ignores the debts we owe,
And truth is all we fail to know.

The world moves on with silent pace,
Across the map, through every space,
We wonder how the path will bend,
And if this dream will be the end.