The Heart Melts To Stone In The City Of Glass

In the City of Glass the sky is either
slate-gray cold weeping the tears of God
or washed pale-blue beneath the iron-gold
of the unrelenting sun that sucks the marrow
from the bodies that move upon its streets.

In the City of Glass the faces all blend together
as one, all alike, no difference in thought,
action, or deed, the faces utter the same words,
the faces move with the same step in a land
where one learns that when people have everything
in the end they discover all that they have is nothing.

In the City of Glass the stones, sleek, cool, and full
of malice are thrown at those who dare draw
their curtains, are thrown at those who dare to question
that when everyone slides toward conformity
there is no way they could be any more different.

In the City of Glass the lanterns light the shadows
in long sweeping arcs and burn so deep, so deep within
the soul that unquestioned unhappiness is a foregone
conclusion, and if any attempts to raise his head
above this rut into which they all trod those wrapped
in the cloth of righteousness crucify him
with the unrelenting passion of the damned.

In the City of Glass the heart melts to stone.

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes

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