always quiet and shadowed by the city's mighty Stronghold.
Rushing through them day by day with an unwilling heart,
it just seemed like any other path but with unreadable scribbles all over.
Flowers that wither and rot along the roadside,
chilling cries of sorrow that burst from these corners.
For some reason it is all clear to me now.
The unreadable scribbles carved into the walls,
turned into personal letters from one's heart.
The rotting flowers that covered the sidewalk,
tell the story of the lost souls that linger.
The chilling cries that echoed through,
reveals one's extinguishing hopes and prayers.
Dark and cold this path suddenly felt,
no life nor coin to be found.
A sense of gloom and sadness set in,
undeniably the pain of those that have suffered.
It was made by the brave warriors that defended the city,
and cherished by the ones that they related to.
But passing through them made me wiser,
the raw lessons of life were forced into me;
for I knew now all the mistakes and errors made.
Some might think it's foolishness,
but I found courage;
for I knew now how to have a glorious battle nonetheless ...
