Diorama Poem by John Dowdall

The ambient city streaks and sounds,
the intangible street has lost it's form.
But what is it that makes a sound
and shifts, turns, moves the diorama around?

I am from a place removed from this space,
but I respect it's laws and hear its sound
I can't comprehend the pain I feel,
What shifts, turns, moves the diorama around?

The diorama is what is now,
the world to come will warp its form
I cannot even dream about
What will shift, turn, move the diorama around?

The hatred could consume it in fire
the man could stand but never see
the way its subjugated and submerged
and shifted, turned, moved the diorama
underground. Save our city now!