Hope

Once crowded streets are now quiet and empty:
the houses deserted,
the shops are all closed.
And the clock,
all by itself on top of the tower,
keeps chiming and chiming
through this still empty night.

A minute thread of life
holding together the last little pieces
of the greatest city of the past.
Now all that remains is the clock in the sky,
chiming, chiming, until it too dies.

Maybe one day it will be remembered
and the city will live again.
Maybe the streets will be crowded again;
maybe the sky will turn black.
But still hope lingers,
and the still ticking clock
waits, waits for the life to return.