In the Square South of the City of Lakes

The evening air is heavy with the taste of defeat
the single light shines out of century old brick
to tell the city it wont go out
wont be like the rest
The city responds with drunkards and saints
mayors and scapegoats that appear too late
features of modernity’s past set on cityscapes
reflected in the most brilliant bulbs and glorious glass
towering over the people but showing signs of age
yet still reaching high
claiming dominance of a little place,
for just a little while
Work days and week ends
truth found in cigarette butts and empty highball glass
a new craft brew just for you, or you
In the distance lies a doomed domed monster
the place of hysteria and regret
of the slow movement forward from one end to the next
to prove that we can be the best,
but never quite crossing that little white line
nearby a tangled web of concrete and rails
of brick and mortar shells
a mighty building gone bust and left in pieces
but this neighborhood’s not black and white
its both
The streets filled with women in Burkas, thugs and workers at night
a melting pot not quite boiling but bubbling
and rising under the radar
to slip in silently next to the city
nestled in tight, to close to fear
so we gaze out of our windows and wonder
what it looks like from up there?
but we’re down here below
neck wrenched to the sky
to watch illuminated towers break the darkness
as surrounding light beams fade
far away the city stays
never to be beaten
because in a few short hours
the sun will rise
and turn the city lights to bright blue skies


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