"2034"

The Times Square Building
towers above
her majestic wings
calling to the Heavens,
pleading for the redemption
of her dying city.

Dusk falls
even the mightiest skyscrapers
are nothing more
than concrete giants,
silhouettes
against the auburn sky.

Sirens echo
reminiscently,
through empty streets.

Ontario breathes,
sending murky waves
caressing the battered shore.
Poseidon cries
for there are no stars,
just satellites and wayward jets,
illuminating the cold black sky.

The lilacs didn’t bloom
as if to spite
those who exploit them,
the flower city.
The ferris wheel still
turns though,
soothingly
in reverent silence.

Kodak’s ancient stacks,
like a chain smoking grandmother,
pump smog
into the starless sky.

As he whored religion,
to fill his pockets
a televangelist once proclaimed,
only Jesus
could save this city.
If only,
if only a Savior would come
and restore former glory.

These thoughts
are nothing more than
wishful delusions
of lifeless souls
waiting.

Waiting
for death to come
like a crow,
a tiny abyss
circling the winter sky,
taking each under
a tattered wing
and carrying them
out of hell.