It was a beige tower that loomed above me.
With a giant clock and an archway so grand,
It beckoned me.
I recall its rough bricks as I grazed
Over them in my run from terror
And the way the light glimmered
On the intricate stained class windows,
The medieval style so elegant and bright.
Oh, how I remember that oak wood of
The pews that were once my hiding place,
Sometimes even my extended home.
Without any blankets,
It managed to provide warmth.
Lacking any food,
It succeeded in keeping me alive-
My shelter, my sanctuary, shielded from
The mass genocide of my world.
I recall gazing out its window
Into the gory night, shaking with fear and tears
Hoping to stay hidden and not be taken
It contained all my thoughts and hopes
Never revealing, sworn as it was to secrecy,
Not only to my emotions but to my residence
My own personal diary
My own personal sanctuary.
But I left it all behind. The forces now rage within me against deception's icy blast. Opposition will never die; there will always be a contrary opinion. A set of iron shackles ominously awaits the wrists of the nonconformist. Regardless of risk, I will stand against the disillusionment that aims to drag me into darkness and fire. I have abandoned my sanctuary, my safe haven. Rebellion burns strongly like a festering wound, a secret warmth. If I ever want to see a change in my world...
It's truly the only way.