City Of Lies

I'm seated at the peak. The wind serenades the silence. The skyline could be a photograph if not for the blinking lights. The city's towers look like middle fingers pointed to the heavens.

The offices lit with people dreading to leave because they know they must return -- dreading to stay because the hours burn into their eyeballs, yet lining their wallets and padding their egos.

They worship: every desk; an altar. Every flickering screen; a sacrificial flame. The clock counts down to its death, like incense burning, they both make for watery eyes.

Then we aged into mere reflections of true religion, paying tribute to temples of the night. We still sing amidst our failures, while the rhythm of lies are drummed into our subconscious.

You are loved, but barely. Expect to be treated unfairly. Grow old and weak, but pray you do not get sick. And if you do fall ill, it must be God's will. 

I think of you, your name like a whisper the wind teases to iron out the ceases of my crumpled soul. Gentle breezes bring me back to a simple love, when the heart reached out for another, and that was all that mattered.

It was different then; our voices pure, our vision unwavering, our dreams untainted, precious and raw.

- Daryl Goh