In the City

In the City

If she ever slept, she would miss the world.

Her eyes follow every hope carried over concrete earth.

Her hands hold the light amidst the dark days of underdevelopment,-

She is the beacon to every eye,

And the home to any who'll challenge her harsh realities

To linger in her endless possibilities.

She is the beat to every world sound,

And the voice to every weary traveler's tale.

"Across the bridge and in the city is where it will happen,"

He tells his brother before he turns out the light.

Across the bridge and in the city is where you will see it all from a sky scraper's view,-

And where you'll sink lower than the sewers that rattle underneath her skin.

Every face will be shaped differently,

And every heart is thick from her merciless dealings.

But she rewards like no other.

For her beauty is so mystified and rare,

That when you find the gutter jewel she so desperately tries to hide,

You will feel her heart more than any other ever beating in your own.

And the lights go out,...

...but not in the city.

by Storyteller

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