They warm our hearts, though they are cold to the touch. We stand amongst their wonder, a marble city of purity and light, strong and hard, enduring and steadfast. A million white stones carved in beauty. A million who build an illusion, for a city is a city, and purity is dying.

Their marvel is truth. This city of vanity, cherished for history and kept by the children of children of its founders. These stones build a capital, where its nation’s children fly colored banners and praise all that is goodness. Yet for all these stones, their walls, statues, and glory, they house no good people. A city of liars, blinded by the gleam of the bright sun upon the streets.

The colored banners will rest against them. The people will cheer. They will raise their heads to look upon these idols that mask their true foundations, these million white stones beneath the cloth.

There are times I see only the sins of men and the world grows ever darker whilst they cover the stones, an embodiment of what good is left, what purity remains with men. But when the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, briefly I see its faint reflection between the flags, none too blinding, but hopeful. Perhaps goodness is still there, beneath the masks. But for now the stones will inspire whilst we are deceived.