Monday, September 27, 2010

I am stranded along an Old City's scape
Like a clock against a crumbling wall
Time suspended
Red bricks falling, falling: Twenty stories high, each a tale of its own,
From this edge I see cold breath rising
chilly night, chins tucked deep against the wind,
urban gait under neon eyes: I am suspended, stranded, alone: the clock hands turn
The old city cries in siren sounds: I shout in helpless tongue
Unheard, heralded to no one
I stand high against a crumbling wall, red bricks of time fall dangerous
The sun rises, but the Old City walks like desperate men: alone they wander under neon eyes


Human Paradox said...

That's the stuff SC. A little urban angst - an instant classic. Good job.

Anonymous said...

It was extremely interesting for me to read the article. Thanks the author for it. I like such themes and anything connected to them. I definitely want to read a bit more soon.

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Old Ollie said...

Nice to see that the escorts are attracted to your poem. A hooker with a heart of gold.

Ssolid and gritty work SQ!

Gordon Mason said...

Enjoyed the rhythm to this poem and the life images given to the old city.