Voices underneath the concrete
speak of flowers set in stone
tiny faces looking upward
To a place that some call home
Watery blues and frozen ashes
Plague them with small shadows, growing doubts
standing still while the world thrashes
for commas in their bank accounts
And we’re all trapped in our frenzy
As we try to make our peace
With powdered faces still forever
Little voices from beneath
_________________
It’s been days and I still can’t believe it. I’ve stopped asking how and started asking why. How does the world mess someone up so bad? Why couldn’t we stop it? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe, even with every effort made, there’s always going to be that one outlier. I don’t know. I can’t wrap my mind around it.
