Towers
Rise against the dead purple sky.
Entrapped.
There's no snow on your roofs,
no gravel on your roots.
Pylon above the rest,
the simple supremacy of height.
~
Each alone, look rigid!
~
Survive the suspensions of weathering,
ye old Polish beast!
There's a centre to it all,
and that's you.
Raised out of despair,
the middle of nowhere
pinpoint yourself
oversee
withhold
control.
Your minors will meet their maker.
Strange times, here they come.