Rays of light pierced though it’s shade, igniting the stove for it’s kitchen to burn on feeding a million souls. The air fills with the element of life, inflating the hollow walls of the lungs opening secret passages for the dark knights to dart on.
The dishes of the stomach rejoice on it’s rescue by the knights, the walls of narrow streets are filled with the mark of life. Juices from the heavens fill the great baths, washing the cells free from sin.
The granaries are filled with magic beans to last the next three hours. Portions of the magic bread are traded with works of the muscle. Transported through the routes of silk, bright and dusty, narrow and steep.
The king sits on his crown of convolutions, teasing his intelligence every second. He sets out commands around the kingdom, from his palace above the atlas carefully balanced on a break point.
The ten calloused workers act on his commands without a thought of third. The kingdom grows everyday with demands increasing with time, desires slowly turning into needs.
The mighty ones are uprooted their lives ruthlessly squeezed out of them, turning them into paper for ink to bleed on.