Wednesday, May 7, 2014

A Poem

Recently published in the 2014 Clarke University Tenth Muse Literary Magazine, here is a poem I wrote about life in New York City:


The soothing cement massages my worn souls,
as my feet and I approach the parapet of dreams.

I pass an old man on the street,
who's beard is so encrusted,
with the old age of time,
that smoking is as easy as breathing,
to him.

The parapet is closer.

I look up to the sky and see,
Men and women turning gears,
Grinding their way to the top,
Hoping to build their own glass house.

The parapet is closer.

Motion and demotion
Existing as one.
Fat cats and holy rats
Sitting on piles of believers bones.

The parapet is closer.

Plebeians and the proletariat,
What’s in and out,
While their value is,
Lifted from their pockets.

The parapet is near.

My feet touch what I think is my destination
Only to find no ground beneath.
I fall until falling stops and I look around to see
I am just one drop in a sea of drops.

The glass is full,
The water is wide,
And the end is neigh.

Bottoms up.