Rappity tap
Clickety clap
Of home...
The beat of the city,
Moving the air,
Sends gusts of jazz through the atmosphere.
The flowers below
The branches above
Tremble.
They know the day is near.
The day when home loses its perimeter.
No longer is it just a city
With man made boundaries on the east
And a river to the west.
The day when home has no natives--
When the city itself swallows everything and anything
That steps within its shaking grasp.
When clothes are optional,
Vices are encouraged,
Sins soon committed, and
Regrets left to be cleansed.
When I close my eyes,
I can see my city
Through the vibrant haze of
Debauchery.
Do I miss the beat?
I am the beat.
Twas forged into me
By the skilled hands of an ancient city.
With every breath I breathe
In this strange northern land,
I shake it up--
Leave it altered and skewed.
An infinitesimal variation
Connecting me to home.
 |
| Delve |
