City Streets

In the field of stone and concrete
Each day new frozen footsteps
Trudge the reminder of his blood
Into Oblivion.
The jungle as if a tombstone
Graceless wonder hiding forgotten names
Faces carved in no one's memory
Those who lived and died
Without a voice.
How in any vision of reality
Where the continuation of life and
Threat of death being near the same
Could the former be but stark emptiness
The latter as a preferable end
In an unmoving swirl of helplessness
That eats away at the soul
And erodes their will to live

And the godless and self-proclaimed godly alike
Turn their heads and turn away
The sight of broken birds and fallen angels
Gnawing at their lack of conscience
To care.
One more death, to them, is like
Another dried leaf
Crunched under sturdy boots of apathy
And blown away in the wind.