~becalmed Beneath the Storm~

With shoe cast eyes buried in inaccuracies of leather life lines, and no cries to shatter walkmans sheath, we traverse those macadam’s, hoping to slip beneath all the broken flowers that pray for sun, as they wilt in the gutters ignored by everyone. No time to leave our tunnels lest we slip between the cracks, and show hope clinging to an outstretched hand we have the very thing it lacks. We see the stubble blurring beauty as it burns across a once proud face, a cardboard castle is all that remains to hide away from our disgrace, and we heed not the whispers carried in headlines, window shop displays, more content to bask in denial, and wrap ourselves in bubbled protection, than run the risk of this self-trial, where a mirror shows how much we’ve sinned and our eyes scream to our souls, “you should listen to the wind.”