I chose comfort at outset of turmoil;
Tranquility maintained in this bubble;
Through a plethora of lies, I became embroiled;
My identity fell victim to monotonous limbo
I sometimes visit the empty town and its recreational center
It has been neglected by those remaining;
It begs wonder from those old enough to remember,
Were they but only delaying,
And do the sacrifices made even matter,
For the city now left vacant.
Still standing are the people, they persist and grow further;
The shops still provide fine citrus, oil, and vinegar.
What delusion caused turmoil, is not the ghost village;
The hole is found in the community once inhabited.