Somnambulist City

by Shawn Allen

 

Welcome, child, to Somnambulist City,
join the sleepwalkers and the dead.
Everything’s fine in Somnambulist City
everybody’s locked up in their own little heads…

The alarm goes off at the right time;
The people move from one dream to the next.
They seem to talk and interact
As they tweet and they post and they text.

They drive and they ride to the office
Making work and then just making more.
They are all so clean and productive;
Each one rushing, each one keeping score.

And they don’t ask questions.
And they don’t ask why.
They don’t really see each other.
They don’t ever see the sky.

Welcome, child, to Somnambulist City,
join the sleepwalkers and the dead.
Everything’s fine in Somnambulist City
everybody’s locked up in their own little heads…

In a dark, little room in the east
Sits a man with a book and a pen
And he writes of the things in his heart,
And he writes down the thoughts in his head.

He must ask the questions,
And he must know why.
And he cries for the people.
And he stares at the sky.

And he knows they are coming to take him.
And he knows that he must get away.
So he gathers his books and his papers
And he walks out into the day.

He climbs the last, living mountain
And he leaves the city behind.
One day he wakes to the fire and screams.
And the bitter tears fill his eyes.

The survivors come up from the valley
And some others come down from the peak.
Now they live on the side of the mountain
Of the city, they never do speak.

And they ask the questions.
And they watch the sky.
And they carved a warning
On the mountainside:

Say goodbye to Somnambulist City
Where nothing remains but the dead.
Now silence reigns in Somnambulist City
Where the beasts of order and safety were fed.

03-26-2014
(c) Shawn D. Allen

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