A day in Dystopia I

 

In the ruins of a fallen empire,

Seven Sisters stood with pride,

Their shadows cast on Moscow's pyre,

Where time and hope collide.

Once symbols of a grand design,

Now shrouded by decay,

These gothic spires, in dark entwine,

Bear witness to dismay.

A barren landscape stretches wide,

As winds through wreckage wail,

Abandoned homes where souls reside,

In whispers, tell their tale.

The rusting steel of past intent,

Now swallowed by the earth,

In twisted form, their message spent,

No hint of former worth.

Through overgrown and shattered streets,

The ghosts of yesteryear,

They haunt the halls where power meets,

In silence, shed a tear.

Dark clouds above, a tattered sky,

A canvas ripped and gray,

Beneath this veil, the Sisters lie,

In mourning and dismay.

These monuments to fallen dreams,

Still reaching for the stars,

Hold secrets in their crumbling seams,

Of battles, love, and wars.

In haunting beauty, there they stand,

A testament to fate,

As whispers echo through the land,

Of glory, and of hate.

For in the end, what still remains,

Are stories etched in stone,

Of heroes, villains, loss, and gains,

The Seven Sisters' throne.