Plastered jaws host
Crumbling souls stuffed
Right under the crushed solar plexus
Of an unfocused humanity
That screams and yells
Bitterness, submissively running
The rat race.

It’s all misery, really:
Poverty in a Swedish car
Engines that do a smooth work
To cover up shameful denial.
When the soul is poor,
What good are multiple bank accounts?

Helicopters above my head
And cars and know-it-all smiles
All around,
Suddenly bring a smile to my own lips,
Sadness is gone,
Surpassed, bypassed 
By quickened steps of the soul.

From my hideout
I stepped out,
Tap-dancing to
A hundred different reasons,
All in tune to contrast
With the cacophony of urban days.

Against the cacophony 
And disillusion 
Now my mind plays
A comforting melody at night
To strengthen up my days.

Melody? I sing my own wor(l)ds
I write my own (s)core
And sometimes, it is a joyful tune,
Filling the circle of night and day
Like notes on my staff, full, round,
Richer than I ever imagined.