And the Gods wept that day, their tears putting out the fire

The noise began early in the morning

in preparations and then warcries

swords clashed, feet crunched over leaves

the reds and oranges of autumn

foreshadowed the heat and flame

that would be brought on

by no one else but the leader of the revolution

the one who led them all into battle

and won them the war

his mind corrupted

by the pressure of being so deep underground

and the staircases winding through the caverns

there was no exit

no escape

buttons covered the walls by the time the place was abandoned

forever reminding him of his fate

haunting him like the ghosts

of the lives lost under his order

and as the sun set over a new nation

one “free” of “tyranny”

it died as fast as it was born

and he died exactly where he was born