She
is conflicted.
Her
life as bleak as the tower she works in,
Day
in, day out, night in, night out, it would be a sin
To
complain, or to be late, or to slack, or to hate
Her
career, but then again, she asked to work late.
She
walks home, because the monorail is down again,
Wondering
if the sky will shed a drop of rain.
The
scenery so picturesque and serene
The
landscape free from litter, unsettlingly clean.
The
road she walks is long, narrow and straight
And
is built of glittering marble. Then- a gate,
Her
gate, leading into her abode, swiping a card
She
enters the beautiful, desolate courtyard.
A
fountain allows a flow of clear, pure water
To
fall down to the bowl, like lambs to the slaughter.
Before
she can pass through her own front door
She
is beckoned by the old man who lives on her floor.
His
window has been shattered once more by vandals
She
doesn’t care, her hand eager on the door handle.
But
he coerces her into his living room
Filled
with relics of the dead, no hope and too much gloom.
She
is conflicted.
Inspecting
the glass, she knows she cannot mend the pane,
She
can recommend a man, one who will come again.
Leaving
abruptly, she enters her apartment.
And
reflects on her work at the police department.
As
she makes herself some coffee and something to eat
Her
mind wanders on, as her heart swiftly retreats.
She
knows her ambition is a condition
And
the city will not let her dreams come to fruition.
Society
cannot fix her, it’s not permitted
For
her to step out of place, she’ll be committed.
She
sighs and hopes the weary old man will die of cold,
He
is after all, so fragile, so slow, and old.
Maybe
he had hopes and dreams once upon a time.
When
the world was flawed and littered with filthy crime.
When
people sprouted from the earth, a vulgar plague,
Of
sin, sacrilege, scorn, with a history so vague,
It
could be used to justify moral apathy.
No!
Not in this world, a world free of agony.
Pondering
her existence, she looks at the city
From
her window, it looks so perfect, so damn pretty.
The
canals of crystal, interwoven seamlessly,
The
tower blocks of silver, dotted so greedily
Across
the scene, all the way to the manmade horizon
Of
dark, heavy, iron blocks, forming an imposing wall,
That
allowed them the freedom to be trapped, one and all.
She
is conflicted
In
a world
Where
the stars are not permitted to shine
Where
inequality is freedom
And
liberty is standing in line.