I am sitting in a dim room,
Inside of another room
Inside one even larger.
All around me, I can hear
It. The distant twang
Of a sting.
It radiates through the air
Cooling it, a chill transpires.
Standing guard at the watchtower;
I am the prophet of life.
Another twang is sounded.
The beautiful silk,
Is pleasing to the touch.
My mind drifts
Through the loneliness
Of summer. The days
Spent lazily, and
The friends that moved away.
I am proud to keep watch.
upon this tower of light.
I am the prophet.