The hearth glows red,

Devoid of the homely affection often associated with such a warmth.

Hammer upon stone rings across the grounds,

But it is not the sounds of pleasant work.

A bell tolls to break,

But there is no rest for the trodden down who slave to only live in shambles.

The man stands above the rest of the working folk,

But he does not deserve the victor’s throne.

Tremors through the ground shakes the earth

With every pounding punch of manicured steel.

Rascals may shout commands,

But they are seldom heard amidst the workings of the night and day.

Outside, the world seems all in perfection

Save the shattered cries that carry past the thick walls.

Unmistakably a prison forged by officials

Unheard, unseen, and unloved which mar the good man.

Blazing flames and sprawling pits of molten life

Threatening to claim the victim of misfortune.

Lying over such heat forged in darkness

Disturbs the tender soul and tears the flesh from bone.

Evil lurks in unsung poems of darkness,

The trouble existing only to surprise the unsuspecting.

Darkness stirs in the hearts of the common folk

To enlarge the hate they already suppress to spite.

Souls turn to rebellion in the heat of rage

Fired by the massive billows that keep the flame on high.

Obstructing the sensible mind,

The grotesque pitch mixed by the hand of the devil spoils heart.

Ugliness, the loathing of an unhardened beating heart

Pouring hot blood into the refiner’s pit.

Lost in the chaos of it all,

A trouble lurking red in darkness fuels rebellion of such degree as this.