Why is everything disintegrating beneath our feet?
This paradise we built up in our minds
stands like a destitute skyline of skyscrapers
and all of the windows are cracked.
No more perfect reflections in unmarred glass
enter in my reflections,
and they're replaced
with spiderwebbed shards that entangle me.
Trapped.

We wanted this metal and rock declaration of our stability.
The infrastructure was mapped out in advance,
and its precision is admired even now,
with all the disappointment and shame.
This monument to us
Mocks me by not being completely torn down
And I see no poetry in its ragged existence,
but the stark reality of failure.
I cannot picture our wondrous city
without the smog
and it's a fog,
and a burden on my mind now.
Straight as city streets
my thoughts follow each other
but I can only seem to find the alleys and slums.
It was going to be so beautiful!
You and I upon the tallest rooftop
of a utopian place greater than ourselves
and yet our plaything,
crying out with the joy of being.

But the tallest building has crumbled,
and concrete proven a fickle friend.
Walls designed for beauty
turned out cold and inhospitable,
and the best of our plans never reached fruition.
Perhaps we should have built an orchard instead.