If life were a bowl of cherries...

Lights hang low in dusty shrouds
And all about the wild ones
Wail their piteous melodies
To the night -


Watchers in the dark
Peering through their misted veils
To see the burning
High above, atop the hill.


A fight, a fight
The wild ones bark
They howl their anger
Through the dark.


How different to the cityscape?
Ten thousand time ten thousand
Sparks of light laid out
below in GLORY


Look down again - below the surface
See a sight that’s not so strange
The watchers sit behind their veils and see
The wild ones play -

The same game and the same rules
Of desperate times
- or desperate measures -
Of how much you have left lose.

And still the dust is all pervasive,
Crumbling concrete adds her tone
To smog and dirt and wasted chances
To things taken, not returned.


A decade since and still no change
The wild ones live and breathe
The dust of someone else’s
Golden Age.