11/12

I look out my window
without my spectacles on
and through a dirty glass,
with a chest full of hope,
and I search for you in every moving blur,
but the lights of the city still blind me
and somehow my stupid, ill, weak sight
won't be deceived.
There are skyscrapers of glass and steel
out there, but no stone and no trees.
There are highways with cars so fast they can't be chased,
but no stars and no river and no waves.
And there are three million people
of which probably at least one hundred thousand
are awake like I am.
But there is no you
and so I conclude
as I put my glasses back on:
This city is no good.
This can't be Paradise like they swore.