Beneath a concrete sky of cold resolve,
Where angles clash like iron wills unmet,
There stands a giant skull, in silence carved—
A titan’s relic, gleaming, steel and threat.
Its surface mirrors ruin and design,
A shrine to futures forged and long decayed,
With sockets deep as voids where stars resign,
And teeth like scaffolds lost in shadow's shade.
Around it rise the brutal towers, bare,
Sharp shoulders hunched in architectural grief.
Their weathered ribs breathe static into air,
Their spines of stone unbent by time or leaf.
And there—a speck, a soul, a step, a spark—
A lone figure walks toward the hallowed mark.
Their path, a whisper in the storm of steel,
Drawn to the deathless dream the gods conceal.
