Of Luster, Dimmed
This place used to hold a certain magic.
Storefronts animated by the essence of olden days.
Wood & candle.
Sweets & toys.
Butter & bread.
But too many feet trampled over things that held value.
And with every piece of trash that fell to the stones, the luster dimmed.
Until only a graveyard of the world it once was remained.
We now stare through black windows,
expectant to find the world outside.
Yet no longer quaint trinkets lie in wait,
Nor swaying oak trees outside our gate.
Beyond our door lies turmoil and screams,
Clouds of black smoke and chaos machines.
An escape we may find inside of our head.
As slowly we fracture, what therein one finds,
Disconnected be, out of our minds.
In remembrance of the world
we once knew as a child.
