The silent white walls thrum beneath the lights,
Stark as the tundra, where our barren eyes
See naught but time that drips and dries away,
Evaporating high to ducted heavens.
The click-cacophony retrains the ears
To feel the pulse of progress growing fast,
Urging the fingers bled at shrines aloft;
Raised high to frame humanity yet hung
With unbelievers clouding codes of saints.
Our crumbl’ng facades of shoe-shined niceties
Hold out until the even’ng, when our hearts
Aching for soul-sincerity curse the walls
That still surround our stagnant bones,
And, high above, the stars in shielding smog
Struggle to bend perception’s stubborn gaze
That sees no further than the clock than spells
The hours, the days, the weeks, the months, the years
In servitude unending to the will
Of nothingness incorporated, voids
Absorbing faith and conscience, piece by piece,
Until...