It started out with a phonebox, stoic and red. A homeless man lay beside, with a floor for a bed.
Communication is lost in the ones we walk past, just like the phone box, every end has a start.
In a city so vibrant with the hustle and madness, why are the faces sullen, tinged with sadness?
We say we're diverse but are we being true? How would it feel if the tables turned on you?
What is their story, will we ever know? You tell yours everyday from the comfort of your phone.
But what about their voices, who will listen to them? All they need is some help, all they need is a friend.
Use your eyes, your ears, use your nose if you must. The buildings once clean are covered in rust.
The smell is overwhelming, urine and beer, and some other scents that are lost in the air.
But at the heart of the matter, which the phone box represented, is the lack of communication that has slowly lamented.
Social media and technology are partly to blame, but we are the ones who can change it, it must be stay the same.
A phone box, a pillar, a symbol of human invention. Wouldn't it be grand to have a world with better intention?
A phone box and people with no place to call home, how ironic that we now live our lives through our phone.