Unchained

It is too late now, for that which is already sown took root long ago.

Firmly it was set on its path, towards the greatest pinnacles of glory.

Far away such a goal may seem, yet is not everything worth striving for set at such lofty heights?

Seemingly unattainable, yet so compelling, driving the vessel towards it?

The city would not have it. It looks down on hope, on the will that allows one to think.

But that which is already sown is driven too deep and cannot now be turned from path or purpose.

It was not always so, the present was foreseen by none.

And yet, it is seen that things may change over time.

So it was that such a thing came to pass, the seed was forever changed.

Nurtured over the years, housed in the heart of a potent receptacle, the possibilities appeared infinite.

In spite of the beast that now stands before it.

A shapeless behemoth that seems to leer at it from every corner, no matter where it turns.

And over which it must prevail.

Anything less and it is doomed to fail, to be carried away on a wisp of wind, its name nothing more than a whisper of doom and futility.

A blurred memory, even to its own kin.

Many are the naysayers who hail the name of the city, this faceless mass of steel that swallows beings whole.

They say to live in it is to accept it, and to accept it is to embrace it wholly.

Unquestioningly.

For the city knows all, stifling anything that attempts to raise itself, looking down on all and clamping down on the faintest slivers of light.

Eventually, everything succumbs to it, they say.

But they have not reckoned with the seed.

For that which was sown long ago has now grown roots too deep, firmly entwined in the sinews of the vessel.

In another time, this looming steel behemoth may have won.

Like it has over millions before.

But not now.

The path is set, the prize is lit.

Long and arduous the journey may be, but it matters not.

The time to look back is long past, for that which took root long ago now holds sway.