Perspective Shift

Dark streets lit by dimming headlights, hanging over head.
Heads nod in accordance with beats, roaring from cars passing.
Sweat dripping from the heat, the sound of small children panting.
Feet pattering, playing on concrete.

Slow, a car creeps.
The sound of the highway in the background, subtle like soft creeks.
Tired cheeks from laughter, mindless of the now or hereafter.
A street requirement tonight unseen.
As the celebration of another year is achieved.
A window, darker than the fading night, rolls down.
Out of which a bright light gleams.

Flashes, only rivaled by the fourth of July are seen.
Screeches and screams.
Small children, mothers, and all of those in-between.
Running for cover, bracing, the sound of thunder cracking. Is this a dream?

From the thunder sounds a swarm of bees, quickly passing by.
Black marks in pursuit of the source, until it fades away.
I rise, tears in their eyes, many begging, yelling, asking why.
Glance over, a body on the floor. Immersed in a pool of red.
Friends and family gather, a woman holding up his head.

I don’t know him, but he looks mid to late teens.
He never even made it to the door. Lost dreams.
I cry for help, but no bodies acknowledging my roar.
He’s gone, another young soul lost to the streets.
It’s silent, I glance down and observe his wounds.

Riddled with gun shots. His entire body’s consumed.
I place my hand on the woman, attempting to soothe.
She pays me no attention, just shrugs and mourns.
I feel a weight on my chest; it’s too much I can’t bear it.
I’m crying, but no body seems to hear it.

I take a closer look at this man. My heart stops.
No …This couldn’t be…

It’s me.