Post apocalyptic balcony number 5

She hoped,
Her children,
Had Heard her voice.
Tonight, of all nights -her birthday.

At the top
Of Tai Mo Shan
Mary, in her enclave
Speaking free.

The rusting
Radio transmitter
Gaffa taped to
An old observatory golf ball.

Temperature 34
humidity 78
typhoon level 3
impending storm

She hoped
They'd listen.
But, so many
had not.

So many had died
stabbed
shot
dead now.

The young bunch
the lost bunch
the violent bunch
the dreams that drained into soil.

She hope the beats
the liquid base
had changed
a few thoughts.

In the post disaster world
Not many chances
rise
Not many dreams evolve.

Maybe today would be new.