The Time After Us

The sound of traffic is no more, replaced by Birdsong

Office buildings accompany not a soul, but the wind’s whisper

Vines reach and scurried over buildings, trying to remember

The beings that once were, that now leave the world in silence,

Doors that await long-lost owners rest; only overgrown branches knock,

Pets wander aimlessly, looking for their loves, not even finding a shadow.

Empty malls house dusty mannequins that boast familiar shadows

Yet it is only a replica, acting as a perch for doves that begin to sing,

Thunderous clouds drench a vacant city, and rooftops meet the droplets knock

A towering tree dwarfs an old empty car, and its rustling leaves whisper

The busiest casino, which used to sport dazzling lights, remained dim and silent

Imprints of ghost shoes in the dirt started to fill in, for they could no longer remember

Ancient weather vanes tango with the wind, but their crafters they could not remember

Wandering clouds try to copy the great airship’s shadow,

Streets that used to be flooded with chattering individuals remain silent

Where dogs once played with their owners, they cry a tragic song

Ants cautiously survey houses of rotting food, and amongst themselves, they whisper

And the last drops of rainwater, ever so slightly as it dies out, remain knocking

But time is no longer made dire, nor sentimental, by those who used to knock

And so it creeps on, without a single soul trying to remember

Ants who stop caring about the disappearance no longer whisper

And vines slither for their own interest, forgetting of the shadow

Wolves welcome some dogs with open arms, and together they sing

Flowers grow and sprout and relish in the silence.

The vacant streets are now one with the silence

Woodpeckers cling to countless trees and wear the title of knocking

The Wind rushes through playgrounds of metal pipes and sings a beautiful song

Dogs run in step with wolves, dedicated to a new hunt, with nothing to remember

Dusty mannequins boast unfamiliar shapes, and cats sitting under their shadow

Vast Forests overtake the city, and to the jovial winds, the leaves are whispering

Years ago, there used to be a whisper

There used to be busy streets with a lack of silence,

There used to be leather-toed feet at the end of shadows

There used to be blushing individuals waiting to knock

But now, such a vision has faded out of remembrance

And life sings a vastly different song

Though the songs sing a different tune, vacant cities still whisper of a distant memory,

Graves eternally rest within the shadow of trees, and sit peacefully in silence,

Time no longer knocks on the door of the past, but on the horizon, our remnants still stand.