inane

We toil and labor all the days of our lives to build towers. A monument of sorts of which we acquire refuge from. A symbol of strength, to some extent, our pride and glory.

Every brick that we've laid, a saturation of blood, sweat and tears. The blood of our forefathers, the sweat of our labors, and the tears of those who love us; of those we've severed all ties. The costs of our construction borne by others. Until the second before everything comes crashing down, do we actually see that the towers we've built have all turned to ash. We have turned to ash.

Our great edifice, all this while a sepulcher.

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