Empires Turned to Ash

Watch the glass towers fracture,
Their mirrored faces cracking
Like ice in spring’s thaw,
As history’s fever breaks
And giants begin to fall.

Steel melts like morning frost,
Corporate kingdoms collapse
Into beds of their own making,
While phoenixes rise screaming
From capitalism’s pyre.

See how empire burns —
Not with the glory they promised,
But with the mundane beauty
Of autumn leaves turning,
Of systems returning to dust.

The smoke writes epitaphs
In languages of ash:
“Here lies endless growth,
Here crumbles false progress,
Here dies the myth of power eternal.”

Through streets of settling cinders,
The wind carries echoes
Of boardroom panic,
Of profits evaporating
Like dew in revolution’s dawn.

Each falling stone
Strikes a bell-note of justice,
Each crumbling foundation
Reveals the bones of those
Who built these towers with their lives.

But look —
From the ruins rise
Wings of flame and fury,
New forms taking flight
From civilization’s compost.

The phoenixes remember
Every broken promise,
Every crushed dream,
Their feathers burning
With the light of lessons learned.

This is how empires end:
Not with a battle cry,
But with the quiet triumph
Of roots breaking concrete,
Of truth outgrowing lies.

We stand in the ashes,
Seeds of tomorrow in hand,
While around us, history circles
Like a wheel returning home,
Like a fire purifying all.

For every empire falls,
Every tower turns to dust,
But from these sacred ashes
We rise again, transformed,
Ready to build something
Truer than power,
Stronger than gold,
Beautiful as justice
Finally served.