By the Rooftop

As the sun shone its final breath through the clouds,
atop a garden of opaque glass, filled with flowers of thorns,
those part of his heart and the masses were turned to ants
as he perched himself by the edge with his hand on his aching eye.
He watched as they moved without a worry, ignoring his one-eyed gaze.
Then a ding echoed, and a face in shadow walked behind him.
It began to speak in whispers that grew louder than the song of the birds.
He kept silent, watching the sun say its goodbye, like always.
Then something reached him:
“Why won’t you speak now? Aren’t you happy?”
Lightly stepping in rhythm with the booms of fireworks,
he passed it, and spoke through his dry lips,
“Who would be?”
Continuing his steps, he danced down the stairs with the tune of silence echoing.