Ash

The night wanes
into morning
and so begins the mourning
of our way of night life.

The city we love is dying.
The city we know is withering
decaying into a dust
soon to be blown away irrevocably.

This must happen eventually,
generationally.
It’s the way of things.
The old must be swept off,
atomized, making room
for the new.

Too recently
we were blasting someone else’s past
into oblivion.
I didn’t anticipate
that the tables would overturn
quite so quickly
or the dawn
would be quite so bright
but now nothing can stop
the long morning’s crawl away from night.

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