To The Shadow People

We are creatures of the wind,
whistling and wandering through an endless atmosphere
of barren boulevards and hollow highways.
Every place we go is as desolate as the bottom of our hearts.
We are longing to see the brightness of the night time horizon
Illuminating a city of endless possibilities.
We are captivated by urbanization.
Tall towers of glowing squares
Spread out on the canvas of metal,
Reaching higher and higher,
Aspiring to touch the sky.

Buildings rise up over the town
Sparkling with dreams of growth, expansion
Shadowing the victims at the bottom
with their mass.

In a thick forest of bewilderment
We are the trees in New York City.
Silent on the corners of dead end streets.
Days grow colder and
the nights come sooner.

We wait for the snow to blanket us

until the unveiling of another year,

It will be the closest we will get to the past,

To the children we once were,

When the monsters were under our beds,

Not eyeing us from across the street,

Scanning us with hot red eyes from head to toe,

From our home knitted hats 

to our tattered shoes,

showing our toes through the holes in our socks.

Fear the day
When I am the last of the trees in a city of steel and cement.
Old with crooked branches and dead leaves,
Scratches in my bark from
you gas guzzlers
your junkers and clunkers
your accidents scarring my skin until
I am cut down...
Because I am the last,
And I am no longer a contrast
but a displeasing eye sore.
Because I am a broken puzzle piece in this maze of mankind.

To the shadow people:
To the boy eating his lunch behind the stairs,
To the girl who choses to believe that she is not beautiful,
To the ones with white scars on their wrists.
Over power the world.
Claim the pavement beneath you with your dark roots
Stand your ground.
Carry on your life in the soil I leave behind.
When they cut you down grow through.
Be the blooming contrast
In a city of skyscrapers.