Day Two, almost gone.

where does it all go, when something is so great that it's beauty swims under waves of vanity? It is a burning car, death from a-far, broken stone on an unpaved road. It weeps. With the rain, and then burns away with the sun and yet, we still remain. Day to day a year and maybe more. A child becoming a mother to the streets, a son selling his home; a basket of fruit, a torn up suit. And it is all there, but still. Silence is broken, shuffled away with politicians and policemen who hear nothing. No crying, not the pacing of callused feet and hungry eyes. But a picture, simply a flash, the snap not a blink and scowls of discontent. The sky sings above as the clouds part and it all crumbles. Rolling anger shattering, lighting light less homes and blackened streets. It works without reason. What thrives not behind iron-clashed gates, lies elsewhere, shivering beneath taunting door wells, and greeting cobble stoned alleyways with empty eyes.