Jackhammer

People wander aimless
Through the brick and asphalt paradies,
No mind to language or sound,
No real need to communicate.
Jackhammers tear apart
The dreams they once had,
Dreams of granduer
That grow less grand with time.
The water numbs them
Until the nails of guilt
Can't be felt
Ripping through their flesh,
Blocking out the thoughts
Of what they have done.
Winds whip them around
Blowing away their conscience
As if it were a poem
Written in pencil recoiling
From the fresh pink eraser.
The bricks below their feet
Dictate their lives,
Telling them where to walk,
And making them not think
To dare set foot on the grass.
No jackhammer can break them,
Kill the repetative sheep-like nature;
Nothing different for them,
Nothing unusual.
Just the straight
And narrow minds.
Numb by the nails of guilt still,
They walk, single file,
In a march to the pasture.
Not allowing anything
To squeeze in there,
Nothing that would stop
Or even slow the line.
Check who you are at the door
Right beside your dreams;
That is, of course,
If you can remember
Which dreams belong to you.