What lies within

Where snowflakes fall and fluid flows chilled,
across the ocean's path where the air stands still,
lies the throne of something hindered, strewn away in a cave;
an embodiment of soul, lacking a spirit unscathed.
A seed of twilight; stillborn, that scours the sands.
The husk of dawn that treads light, neither ghost nor man.
The fodder for one's burdens, cast to rot in a room,
as it grows to form masses of shadowed platoons.
A tainted taste of tyranny, taunting the innermost thoughts.
A follow-up on Satan's misery, ol' Beelzebub's curse.

A mirror of this world, of what it's come to be,
where people walk the graves hoping a trade would decree.
A technological multiverse of faces, spaces and posts,
where a picture no longer speaks half the thousand words it once spoke.
Stick figures in cloth troll the streets all but bare,
audibly crackling in the heat of the hot sun's stare.
An asylum for the drained, lost, withered and weak
and those who earn a lifetime in the span of a week.
A demographic separation of the rich and the meek:
Forged geographic delegations of suburbs and streets.

Cities built high to compete around the globe,
each nation rising higher with their morals sunk low.
Country wide fistfights over who found home first.
Irrational international intentions exposed.
Think it not ill to say such a place could change;
miracles are granted, yet some can be made.

Do all but lose hope on this internal war.
This was all of the heart and what dwells in it's walls.