It’s just a hum
The city is breathing,
They report, yet it isn’t,
Lying still, like a corpse
On a bed of nails.
There is kindness out there,
Alive, lost in a labyrinth
Of apathy’s undoing.
Life’s eager passengers
Rock in rhythm, motion,
The bald summit too far.
We wander blind this path
Of sleeplessness.
We cut a path beneath
Dense urban sound to wallow
In mud. Senseless. Glut.
It is the lie of the land.
It sits mocking us,
This barren idle stage,
Players rotten to the core.
They steal your privacy,
Hack your life out dry,
Rehearsing your lines.
This speech is nothing,
Lost in a heartbeat.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, June 1, 2020
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