There Will Come Soft Rains

Make a wish and toss a coin in

An old tradition that all can join in

Who draws the line?

Does it take an artist’s eye

To determine what piece of art is truly fine?

Who set the standard

To which we’re all confined?

Who chose the theme?

It’s nothing more than theory

When you clearly know the scheme

When your friends are staring at you

Expecting you to lead

Yet the simple act of asking for

Direction only means

Closing doors, floored

By the liability and nothing more

Like a beggar born

When the coin has gone extinct

Can you spare a second chance

When you avert your gaze

I swear that second glance

Would make you burn away

The bridge you think you’ve built

Down to the beams

You think you live a life fulfilled

I think it’s bursting at the seams

I feel empty

I feel seen

Yet still obscured

Like the space between

The wired screen

And the lock to your front door

Like the fountain in a mall

No longer filled with any stores

A monument to forsaken dreams

In a place we once adored

Yet long forgotten

I feel empty

(Make a wish)

I feel seen

(And toss a coin in)

Yet still obscured

(An old tradition)

We all can join in

When your friends are staring at you

Like you robbed them of their wings

It can drain the tears

That you used to fill up

Your fountain of self esteem

Closing doors, floored

By the liability and nothing more

Than a wish on a copper coin

In a cashless society