Calamity

We are safe underground.

With shallow walls of pooling puddles

Counting pebbles till our wishes come true.

Our faces scarred with dirt that is not ours.

The filth of a country paints our cuticles,

The muck of a city shields our eyes.

They are the builders of sorrow

And claw away any hope they can muster

To protect our hollow calls.

But we are safe underground.

Gnawing at our split ends.

Keeping our heads above the water.

Beaming the last light from our dying torches,

While our hearts are dull and lifeless.