Stillborn
by Luna NovaLonging for a gleaming city.
For spires of glass and steel, outgrowths risen above the clouds.
For a place for the teeming masses to bustle.
That never sleeps.
For crafts all manner, flowing in and out, speeding by in a blink,
or lazily drawing in to a stop.
I must make do with low hills, these grids of stout boxes barely defacing a rolling silhouette;
concrete stalagmites that would replace the skyline left only in my head.
Where did we go so wrong, that we stopped building the future, one half century ago?
Why must I live in someone else's frozen moment in time, an elder's rose-tinted childhood.
I know there's something wrong
Your concrete heart isn't beating
I am so helpless here
And nothing that I do
Is ever going to bring you back
How did we become content in this stasis?