towers of old

Forged from the wisest of architects, The towers of old stand tall, Made from blood and sweat. I call to the vast space, my voice reverberates and echoes throughout. I listen for a response of the towers. A scream, one of a child, calls back. It's a shriek; a cry for help. Bells ring, as if to drown it out. But that scream is only getting louder.