The drone of bees hummed in the streets.
Time became a God within the subconscious.
Faith became a sign set in numbers and names.
Looking at the faces, I searched for my savior,
but all the blank stares held a cloning behavior.
A brush of the shoulder and an simple "hello",
would put me in motion,
my green light to go.
But all that I see are limbless figures,
with no mouths to breathe.
A city of eyes in the shadows of billboards.
Decay is accepted in this city of hives,
where survival becomes an object,
and simplicity is forgotten.
Hidden beneath the high rise structures,
the steeples and chapels
echo lost lectures.
Drowned away by the humming of the hives,
where time is our Lord,
and currency is our lives.
Hail Mary, mother of manhattan.