The lights have dimmed and the shine has dulled and
the loudest of the lot have become so sullen.
The city of charm and romance, the city that claims to never sleep,
the flowers that once glistened, the butterflies and the angels retire and weep.
Their beautiful mouths now hidden from view beneath those protective masks--
Thin as paper, stretching across those unfathomably fragile faces.
All of the lovelies, the models, our radiant neighbors-- their perfectly shaped lips covered with film of debris, the remnants of a trademark dissipate into the sea.
Those beautiful eyes, crying tears which mix with the dirt on your cheeks. You wipe it away but the dust still collects and collects. It collects and collects and your efforts are in vain. You do what you can to ease the pain but the bodies fall and the children are slain.
You can't escape the thrust of the cloud, and all those attempts to make your parents proud, all of it for nothing just like your attempts to wipe away the dust that settles on your once colorful face.
You can't escape the force of the smoke, and I can't forgive those who misspoke, assuming we had their trust when all we have is this inescapable, omnipresent dust.
The most vibrant borough covered in brown and gray--
These shades of sorrow are forever here to stay.
The remnants of the city of the fearless and brave, buried under sheets of that ashen Tuesday.
The murky depths of Hell rise into the streets. Colorless waves consume unapologetically, mile upon mile until the walls appear bleak and the air smells vile. Pallid faces and wan, waxen hair, I look into your eyes with a dismal stare. You glance over and the overcast skies match your anxiety-ridden eyes.
Hoary streetlights and civilians collecting dust, an entire city reduced to brown and gray. Here today, gone tomorrow, stand proud once, eventually fall in sorrow. Every glance stricken with pain and every hand trembling in grief except those responsible who were granted a reprieve.
