The streets of your heart are deserted, yet lighted up. Not with neon but violets. Like a legion, your trees stand tall even when their leaves fall. In cold season, they wither. Then during summer, the flowers start to bloom. It’s a circle always leaving room for a fresh start. But your streets are dead in need of renewed existence.
The streets of your heart are deserted, yet lighted up. Not with illumination but dew. In relation, you seem new but in the real sense you are broken. Your traffic lights are intense but control not. Green says stop, and red says go. Cars speed to nowhere while people walk everywhere. While they need direction, your streets need some inspiration.
The streets of your heart are deserted, yet lighted up. Not by the government but solely by you. Even in darkness, you are your strongest armor. In karma or at dusk, perseverance is a foreign term to you, a self ruler flaunting your fragrance. It’s bitter sweet. Making a lone walker like me forgive the unknowing of your streets.