When Doors Close, Walls Rise

When Doors Close, Walls Rise When the towers of the East begin to tremble in sand, And the glaciers of the West bleed blue and silent, A Leader shall rise with a golden mane, And a face of orange fire — bearer of the iron will. From the heavens will not fall flame, but silence, As old alliances crumble into dust. He who denies the sea and wind Shall mute the bells of peace and raise a wall beyond the horizon. The eyes of Greenland shall turn to the South, But they will not see a savior — only the shadow of an eagle with iron claws. Not with war, but with whispers; Not with blood, but with signatures — the island shall sink in quiet conquest. This Leader will not battle fire from above, But hunger from the future, and the voice of compassion. The lands of the North will be his New Jerusalem, Where he shall command the building of fortresses of ice and survival. Three gates of the world — Western, Northern, and Maritime — Shall be opened by force of hand. And the peoples, locked as birds in cages, Will be fed promises made of steel and stillness. A time shall come when rulers of other nations, Envious of his architecture of isolation, Will follow in kind — and thus shall be born An era not of unity, but of retreat: The world not as a planet, but a thousand silent fortresses. And when the last ice quivers on the pole, And the sky burns with the color of rust, We will see that walls were not our safety — But our tombs. And the light — was not from the sun, But from fire.