I listen --
leaves fall to the ground,
whispering --
or crying.
I believe they are crying,
although they have no voices.
In a symphony of red, gold, and brown,
they are brought together
beneath the wheels of the hurrying cars.
The leaves are dying.
Their voices sound in sorrow,
"Autumn, autumn!"
The branches become bare.
Nightfall crawls up the boulevards,
leaving behind a synthetic array
of pink, azure, and green fluorescent lights.
Night is not dark.
The sky is still lit
in a chemical mixture of black and red.
"Blackness, blackness!" the leaves cry.

Glass splinters beneath my feet.
     -- Sharp edges pierce my skin.
Waves of pain travel from my legs,
spread to every inch of my body.
I shatter glass with my sole.
     -- Flesh tears -- blood streams.
I leave a bloody footprint
as I move one foot forward.
Glass splinters beneath the weight of my body.
     -- Extreme pain.
I cannot reveal the torture of each step.
Tears do not fill my eyes.
No cry leaves my chest.
It merely rolls back and forth,
till it explodes against my inner walls --
like waves break against solid cliff --
in silence of the roar.