It stood stark against the sky,
a monument of steel and single-minded purpose,
indifferent to the waves
that crashed against its legs.

Below, the deep earth held its secrets,
ancient and patient,
a dark and silent promise
of richness buried under immense pressure.

First came the whispers,
the seismic pulses sent down into the crust—
a rhythmic, percussive questioning
to find the softest, most vulnerable point.
A location was chosen.

The great drill descended,
its diamond tip: a hard, insistent truth.
It broke the surface with a shudder,
a violent intrusion into the silent dark.

There was no gentleness here,
only the grinding friction
of steel against resisting stone,
a relentless drive downward
through layers of ancient memory.

The earth groaned under the building heat,
the structure above trembling
with the force of its own desire.

Deeper and deeper it pressed,
until with a final, jarring breach,
it broke through into the hidden chamber.

A sudden moment of pressurized silence,
the anticipation of the void.
Then came the release—
not a gentle scent,
but a hot, black, uncontrollable surge.

The crude rushed upward,
a primal and ecstatic gusher,
coating everything
in its dark, viscous lifeblood.

The raw fervor eventually subsided
into a steady, measured pumping,
drawing the ancient wealth up from the deep, sating a hunger
that could never be filled.