Too Long

It seems like windchimes are singing dreams into the breeze
And no one's reaching for them;
Everyone's too busy frowning at the ground.

Dragon's snore from within closed storybooks
Collecting dust beneath beds,
Replaced with make-up and condoms.

Shoes are empty, feet propped upon recliners
While sunlight is shut out by dark drapes
And cheaply immitated by TV commercials.

"How long can a feather sit
"Before it is raised up again by the wind?" I ask.
"Sooooo long," the wind moans.
Too long.