Empty Hands

I look down on my dead cell phone

The only thing left in my empty hands

Couples huddle on the cobblestone

Cold mocks me with its high demands

So I walk from the pure, smooth street

To find bricks and dirt in a filthy lane

Here I find comfort for my feet

Here I see the broken and their pain

I find bricks better mirrors than the river

That runs along that pristine street

There’s a cold that makes me shiver

When there’s no one left to meet