For the disillusioned

8/12/09

the sun rises again on a city that has been wilting
since the beginning of time
the people put ashes to their mouths and learn to
breathe while gasping for air in the quiet crevices of night,
when no one else hears
their eyes are only open to blink, glossed over in the same hue
as the smog that blankets their skyscrapers
the city beats on a processed heart, preserved by the grave
working to live, living to work
senseless, faithless, hopeless
they thirst and hunger. 


some moments they find the heart move against the ancient chains
when they taste drops of goodness through heavy skies
in a pure smile,
a helping hand amidst faceless crowds
the sun's rays that fill the room quietly
little things
monumental things, which move them though they can't see towards which direction
the flight of birds across a cloudless sky that tempts the heart to soar
the last quivering note of a song that strikes a chord unbreakable
the elusive song of God
this love song,
which they can't take in because the thought of
something complete, and wonderful and beautiful
is too dangerous, too good to be true

but He whispers in everything,

you were made for this kind of love.