(no subject)
This morning before class. yeaaahh...
A Song From the City
A pigeon of dark, grey, lead
fails to move out of the
path of a hurried oncoming walker.
Half-heartedly the pigeon posts itself amongst
a cement wall swerving with vines.
A line of city, a blur of orange,
the pigeon watches the sun begin to rise against the backdrop of a lonely city.
Virgin white smoke rises from an approaching manhole,
It penetrates the air with a view of optimism as it eludes
the polluted air. Heat from the core of the city escaping into the
outer world where it may be released into the streets of passing people.
All these people, with all their secrets,
plumetting into the depths of the gutters where
they will crust themselves to the inner walls.
A horn being honked, a man yelling for Jesus, a woman shouting details about last night on her phone...
A song composing itself through the lives of different people.
The woman with the dark skin, the man with the light eyes,
the pigeon with heavy wings, the breath of the city.
Beating, pulsing its way through existance.
A song from the city, to those who live it.
A Song From the City
A pigeon of dark, grey, lead
fails to move out of the
path of a hurried oncoming walker.
Half-heartedly the pigeon posts itself amongst
a cement wall swerving with vines.
A line of city, a blur of orange,
the pigeon watches the sun begin to rise against the backdrop of a lonely city.
Virgin white smoke rises from an approaching manhole,
It penetrates the air with a view of optimism as it eludes
the polluted air. Heat from the core of the city escaping into the
outer world where it may be released into the streets of passing people.
All these people, with all their secrets,
plumetting into the depths of the gutters where
they will crust themselves to the inner walls.
A horn being honked, a man yelling for Jesus, a woman shouting details about last night on her phone...
A song composing itself through the lives of different people.
The woman with the dark skin, the man with the light eyes,
the pigeon with heavy wings, the breath of the city.
Beating, pulsing its way through existance.
A song from the city, to those who live it.