How I have fallen on hard times, coffers ravaged by the relentless demands of light, power and heat.
My chariot remains horseless and unable to move, with a darkened heart and weary hand I strap leather to my bare soles and trudge through the enchanted forest with a heavy load of offerings to the Cathedral.
“What sorcery is this?” Demand the guards “Thou shalt not enter without a chariot!”
No amount of hand wringing, gnashing of teeth or grovelling for forgiveness would appease the guards who stood deadfast in defiance
“Desist” they scream “you are unworthy”
I beg to the enlightened few, each with shiny chariots, but none would take pity on my impoverished carcass. I have not the strength to return to my hovel, my bag of offerings remains at the gates for the guards to clear or be ripped to shreds by hounds of the night (foxes)
The local tip won’t let you walk in with a bag of rubbish
Despite a marked footpath