Walking along seemingly endlessly, you eventually happen upon a giant wall. Though it is overgrown with all sorts of organic flowery, it is still a site to behold: barbed wire fuses into the roses which line its wall while at the bottom is a series of defensive spikes and shell-blasted crevices which speak of a fierce contest here.
Sections of the wall have fallen into disrepair, large chunks missing from its unity. Among the pile of rubble, you sometimes glean pieces of armor, seemingly antiquated, which line the shattered masonry. They sleep alongside more modern pieces of equipment such as radios and the ashes of men.
Though the ground is soaked with water and this forms puddles of mud swirling with culled flowers which threaten to swallow you whole, you are careful in navigating this swamp. Walking by, you see the remnants of conflict– uniforms, destroyed husks of tanks, and shells. All blare with the call of language.
“Mine of whom washt from spot of child-bed taint, / Purification of the old Law did save, / And such, as yet once more I trust to have”
[“Mine of whom washt from spot of child-bed taint” appears spread out over the marshes in-front of the defensive wall; each word in this line appears enmeshed within either a puddle, grave, or pile of rubble, their disunity suggesting, perhaps, the death of the romantic arts. “Purification of the old” engraves itself in bold lettering on the brow of the wall, calling out to all who see it that this wall gave its masters all that it had. “law did save”, meanwhile, melts, emblazoned at the foot of the wall among the discarded war material, sunken low and accepting of its defeat. “And such,” can just be seen through the breach largest in stature, and just beyond the wall, a transcript seemingly inviting people to trample upon it. “as yet once more I trust to have”, then, bellows out in a half-circle further out into the camp beyond the wall.]
What do you do?
Have you resolved matters, here?