She is conflicted.
Her life as bleak as the tower she works in,
Day in, day out, night in, night out, it would be a sin
To complain, or to be late, or to slack, or to hate
Her career, but then again, she asked to work late.
She walks home, because the monorail is down again,
Wondering if the sky will shed a drop of rain.
The scenery so picturesque and serene
The landscape free from litter, unsettlingly clean.
The road she walks is long, narrow and straight
And is built of glittering marble. Then- a gate,
Her gate, leading into her abode, swiping a card
She enters the beautiful, desolate courtyard.
A fountain allows a flow of clear, pure water
To fall down to the bowl, like lambs to the slaughter.
Before she can pass through her own front door
She is beckoned by the old man who lives on her floor.
His window has been shattered once more by vandals
She doesn’t care, her hand eager on the door handle.
But he coerces her into his living room
Filled with relics of the dead, no hope and too much gloom.
She is conflicted.
Inspecting the glass, she knows she cannot mend the pane,
She can recommend a man, one who will come again.
Leaving abruptly, she enters her apartment.
And reflects on her work at the police department.
As she makes herself some coffee and something to eat
Her mind wanders on, as her heart swiftly retreats.
She knows her ambition is a condition
And the city will not let her dreams come to fruition.
Society cannot fix her, it’s not permitted
For her to step out of place, she’ll be committed.
She sighs and hopes the weary old man will die of cold,
He is after all, so fragile, so slow, and old.
Maybe he had hopes and dreams once upon a time.
When the world was flawed and littered with filthy crime.
When people sprouted from the earth, a vulgar plague,
Of sin, sacrilege, scorn, with a history so vague,
It could be used to justify moral apathy.
No! Not in this world, a world free of agony.
Pondering her existence, she looks at the city
From her window, it looks so perfect, so damn pretty.
The canals of crystal, interwoven seamlessly,
The tower blocks of silver, dotted so greedily
Across the scene, all the way to the manmade horizon
Of dark, heavy, iron blocks, forming an imposing wall,
That allowed them the freedom to be trapped, one and all.
She is conflicted
In a world
Where the stars are not permitted to shine
Where inequality is freedom
And liberty is standing in line.