Echoes Beneath the City

Something whispers in my ear.

My conscience? No.

It’s my thoughts, at least that’s what I hear.

I look towards the concrete floor,

A track of rushed footsteps taint it,

The clean surface with mud painted,

As the chaos then awakes with a roar.

The music through my earphones clogs deep,

Muting the commute, the chaos, the city never sleeps.

Beneath the streets where hurried footsteps pound,

A river’s memory flows without a sound.

The concrete jungle holds a ghostly past,

A silent song, forever meant to last.

Where giant trees once stood in slumbering sleep,

The very air recalls a breeze through leaves.

The city’s pulse, a rhythm fast and new,

But underneath, the ancient echoes flow.

As for every tower reaching for the sky,

A plot of green and innocent land must die.