He died between two monuments

In the wreckage of time,
I was resurrected;

a monument of
human pride,
buried in
the rubble of second chances.

Windows imploded,
ninety floors on
their side.

Relocated stairwells took
one hundred minutes of
Hell and stretched them
as wide
as steel flesh will go.

Before this godless concave,
I considered myself brave but
even
a laughing stock knows
when he’s become a bane.

And it was
in that smoke-filled
rain I found my
treasure trove of
tragedy,

a Shangri-La
I masterfully
turned
into something
fearsome.

They say,

“he may have
died between two
monuments, but

was reborn
on a window sill
above an
Atlantis
of new found
strength.”

I’ll take that
as a sign
we’re moving on.

Sometimes
time is
all it
takes.

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