A thousand spires of concrete and glass
Etch their signatures into the clouds,
Holiest of shrines to commerce and wealth.
A soulless furnace of misspent energy
Or engines of tomorrow’s successes?
Streets bathed in shadow that hides
The scurrying shells of men and women,
Wan caricatures of the human spirit,
Decorated and dedicated to jobs
That pay their bills but rob their souls.
Where are the sounds of Life
In this chthonic chamber of horrors?
Who sings the songs of individuality?
Originality and free thought flit
From corner to corner, shadow to shadow,
Fearful of the crushing boots of conformity;
Chirruping into the noisy silence in hope
They are not alone.