Soon

Red and white polka dots,
ribbons and curls,
where did those days
of yester year vanish to?

Into the dust of winding roads
some frozen in time surrounded
by countryside, others buried
beneath a blanket of ash fault,
they settled.

Tears for her younger days fall
from time blinded eyes,
white like the overcast smog.

She imagines this new world
through her nieces rasping voice,
remembering when you could hear
the rustle of grass and sing
with the crickets,
trees and flowers reflected
the sun and air was pure
like fresh dew.

Trembling hands crippled by
a life of constant bettering,
feel the crush of failure as
children groan, huddling in dumpsters
and gunshots ring out
from the local pizzeria.

The future, she whispers to her niece,
does not wait until tomorrow, soon
the past must right its wrongs,
soon the world must breath
fresh air and look beyond
their own decrepit souls. Soon.