The Elixir
The dunes were still, the wind seemed to
be bored of the gloating displayed by the
man who had a hunger for malice and
gobbled on people's pride as
a pastime activity, his own city.
The merrymaking event started off as
a part of the man's absolute and dying
conscience and turned into a resolute
revolution in his dry life. Everything that
he molded now seemed to have definite
meaning, like that of the place where
dark and light never really differed.
One by one,
he went on conquering,
constructing castles,
installing new machinery,
and making dungeons.
This intense preparation was scary
and it made all the men around him go
haywire, brutally killing each other.
The city that the man built was material
for only a day, existed only to make him
realize his efforts had plunged deep,
into nothingness.
Grief-stricken, he decided to give up all
of this and become a hermit.
But his puny heart refused to do this,
and he continued to build, like always.
The city was dark now, as smoke was
rising up the ruins, for the second time now
after the new construction went down.
Everything in the aura started looking
new again as the man started off
building again, refusing to slow down.
Like the previous two adversities,
the city did not fail to go down.
The city did not fail to take lives.
The city did not fail to incinerate.
The city, was in complete adversity.
After two hundred and thirty-one
failed attempts, the man, now a hermit,
realized something very big. Back in his
ineffective spell of building, he had money
to spend, resources to build and men to
splash things all over.
But there was one,
he never won.
Enough dime,
but not enough time.