Wind passes through the streets,
City lights make it bright as day,
There isn’t a soul to be found,
Beneath any of these spotlights.
The abandoned mansion creaks,
In the wind, just the same way,
As it did before it was rundown,
Twenty-three years ago tonight.
The animals have ran for cover,
Not even roaches roam anymore.
Their remains are decaying, yet,
Remain untouched by the flies.
Light rain and a dark fog hover,
On a reality of a perfect world.
Everything’s beautiful at sunset,
When nobody will see the sunrise.
Doors are open without concern,
Like they were sixty years ago,
The crime rate is less than none,
This was the idea behind peace.
Remnants of the cities still burn,
Until they are covered in snow,
And later revealed by the sun,
To dry out for countless weeks.
Bodies can still be found inside,
Bowing to their homemade altars,
Praying to God for forgiveness,
And that this isn’t what it seems.
Blood and tears pool from eyes,
Where reason and logic faltered,
Since they tend to forget this is,
What they envisioned in a dream.
The towns could be on postcards,
And the desert canvas is erased.
Lavish possessions discolor until,
They become a part of the earth.
There’s a clear view of the stars,
And whatever lies in outer space,
Only trees still stand on the hill,
And it’s more beautiful than birth.
The ocean is quiet, the tide is low,
Skeletons awash onto the shore,
Until the sand blows over the top,
And closes the book that we wrote.
Only nature calls this place home,
But no one will complain anymore.
When all life forms come to a stop,
Your dreams will merit some hope.