Jennifer Friedman, 7/12

The City is Dead
Dying, dead, we are no more.
Under a blanket of evil and rancor.
We breathe though we are not alive.
We hear but talk through the noise.
A mist covers the earth.
A fog in the depth of morning.
We need no more laughter than we can take.
And our children are dead too.
A prayer is needed
To come in the night.  To awaken us.
Eternal rest is best, we say.
Play the music until hearts explode,
Until we sleep.
Silence is for the night.
Promote. Poetry.
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