The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Faces without name, faces without purpose Faces that are just like my own. I watch the decrepit, old man Standing, waiting for a train to nowhere Wandering through the rest of his days Like every second Is his Last.
The children playing there don’t know it yet. Soon they will -- their weary mothers do. Every day, growing older. Every day, growing colder. Every day, realizing our fate.
The tracks are wet from the cold, Unfeeling rain. The rain, which pours from the Infinite sky, [Of which we will all soon belong] Floods the streets and earth [Of which we will all soon belong] The drops dismantle the delicate flowers surrounding us...
Petals Drop To The Ground helpless.
Our days dwindle as such.
One day We will all be these Petals on a wet, black bough.