The City

 -on our blindness to self-destruction

A fumbling mass of nothing good,

People walking, running, talking,

Fallen angels work as they should,

Grey clouds smog, settle, stalking.

Mystery enshrouds, judgements cloud,

We sit in this room, eat, walk, sleep, die, breath in deeply, give a sigh.

Yellow light scrapes on the sky, purple noise screams and loud.

The breathless living reach out to us, making thoughts birth like, ‘Why?’

 

Stompa, stompa, like a drummer boy,

The feet of those who are walking, beat life into its heart.

The ancient smoke billows –respiration.

Forgotten light simmers through –restoration.

The dazzling signs of those who are showing, end and start.

Flasha, flasha, like a fishing coy.

 

Beata, Beata, like cries of eaten souls,

The echoes of ancient stories untold, mysteries unfold.

All babbling tongues of men, unveiled,

But forsaken, darkened pasts entailed.

Ambiguities leap from hot to dark, light to cold.

Patter, Patter, shadows consume our goals.

 

What is this life anyway?

The drink spills over the edges, is this what we live for? There must be something.

We sit solemnly, silently, waiting for something wise to say.

There’s nothing.

We push forward on an endless trail, pushing weightless millstones.

Bitter memories fill in the edges, sealing any hope of escape.

We are prisoners on our thrones.

Locked in this room emptiness, remorse fills in any shape.

Again, we contemplate.

 

Thunda, Thunda, blood rain falls from red clouds,

Ears perk to hear sharp echoes pounding these grey halls.

We crane through smoked windows to see the light of stars,

But they are lost in ominous headlights of cars.

We open this rusty metal door to see outside past the walls.

Smatta, Smatta, rain disperses the star-gazing crowds.

 

Tappa, Tappa, we breathe this toxic air,

And walk down calloused streets through acid rain.

We walk around the block and then again.

We form fickle relationships and then again.

Nothing new, just reimbursing the old pain.

Whacka, Whacka, twisted tales add to our despair.

 

The city’s lights fogged by us,

The city’s streets clogged by us,

The city’s parks ravaged by us,

The city’s people savaged by us,

The city’s gates charred by us,

The city’s soul marred by us.

Yet we still continue in destruction true,

Yet we still do what we do…

 

By Joshua Pike