The view from my window
is static as stone. Four
high rises mechanically probe the
grey skyline, their scale-like, cemented  
girth obscuring the world within
eyeshot. Sickly city trees weep
and mourn, but cannot be
heard through double paned glass
and eggshell white prison walls,
which house by solitary confinement.

Lives are lived hermetically sealed.
Humans reside in spaces better
suited for use as fishbowls.
                                                                ­                                                                     Who longs for the ocean?
We hide away, smothering
our vibrant-hued colors we
once let each other see.
                                                            ­                                                               Go and make rainbows, please.