Zealous Steaple

A distant glow—a projection in stone and masonry—where stories are laid, sealed within the works of time.Each brick remembers, each arch whispersof hands that labored, hearts that believed.

The zealous, towering steeple rises,cutting through sky and silence,its voice not of words, but of presence—calling to the people below.

It sounds without sound,yet echoes through the soul:“Come.”

Come from the noise,come from the wandering,come from the weight of divided paths.

Above the city it cries,a howling call carried on unseen winds—not of fear, but of awakening:“Choose this day whom you will serve.”

And still it stands,through dusk and dawn alike,a witness unmoved—waiting for hearts to answer.