The drifting flakes, it's hard to think
Are bits of ice and not of ash
For when I look to whence they came
It's buildings that are in that path,
They hide the clouds
In how they crowd
And from them we are all but specks,
And they the specks, from in those clouds
Who would think them so complex?
But as I watch as those ants crawl,
I see one building most of all:
The one that holds the glorious stage,
Upon which singers' voices rage
And tremor, like their pretty feet
Which flit and fly
And catch the eye
And cross my mind as I walk the street.
One thing that never leaves
Is the excitement in the air.
It's nearly midnight but even still
There's people everywhere.
People hustling,
People bustling,
In a never ceasing flow.
The lights stay brightly lit;
Perhaps increase their glow.
And when at one I go to crawl
Into my bed I have to draw
The curtains back to hide the light
To sleep in darkness that I might.
And yet the city stays alert
And will until the bright sun peeps
Into the sky
And opes its eye
For tis the City that Never Sleeps.
YOU ARE READING
Random Poetry
PoetrySometimes poetry just bleeds out of me. Funny poetry, serious poetry, poetry that has good meter and complicated stuff, or poetry that's just a jumble of rhyming words. <Note: The first 20 or so are MOSTLY old poems, kinda light and silly and f...
