Ode to the Quiet Old Evening

Here's another poem I wrote just tonight as I was between essays for my classes. Sorry that i haven't had enough time recently to finish part 5. Its coming, don't worry. I am actually going to be writng most of it tomorrow in one of my classes so hoepfully it will be done by tomorrow night. Again, sorry about the delay. You guys rock!

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Ode to the Quiet Old Evening

The cars are silent, vacant shells of motion
The stars are late coming, and the world is old
The concrete, cracked and raked with industry
Wheezes under the pressure of ten million feet
Forty million rubber tires, sitting in lines of red lights
There is no movement, no humans, only automans within
All is silent, stale air neither cold nor warm nor tantalizing
The ground is too hard, we dare not step upon it
The world is older, greyer, paler, staler, and perfectly sterile
When withering clouds peel like paint from the skies
And the tapestry of chivalry begins to unravel at its core
The thousand voices of a single raindrop
Scream in apathy as they scrape down our windows of fear
Urns of Grecian flowers, broken lie before us now, pieces
Of what was, and what could have been,
Had we but tried harder to reach the golden end
But no, not gold or laurel for our human painted face
But crowns of heavy concrete sorrow from our fathers
Laced with dust and manacles of barbed wire
Building taller skyscrapers every day
To reach the castles in the sky, ever just beyond reach
The world purrs quietly, humming to the sound
Of a billion little engines droning onwards in steady motion
When will there come a stop of the quiet killing sound?
And the sorrow eyes of concrete dust and radiation
Look to the last swallow flying through the dusky sky?
Why can the insomniac eyes not simply open on their own?