City Life

Thomas Cook stands, alone, stone against the rain-soaked night

I'm home, back in this city that holds me so tight

she puts her arms around and hugs me back to life

the smile on my lips brims wide

The life of the city, its heartbeat

The rhythm of time-strapped pounding feet

is duller at this late hour

but the magic, the power

still has its hold on my hand

as we stroll along the New Walk

against the grey slate sheen of careening rain

In puddles, the art of the buildings reflect

how much we miss or neglect

so much lost at eye level, or gazing at a glaring screen

when just a few feet up there is beauty to be seen

Down old alleys, little nooks and crannies

these inner-city valleys

old dim lit streets hide secrets from the masses feet

not frequently used by the flocking hoards

out looking for a drink or another shopping fix

these are places unspoiled by modern glass fronted advertising boards

sold as a place to find promising goods

but just there to entice you in, by offering a treat

before force-feeding you overpriced pre-packaged falsehoods

On the main streets the crowd begin to congregate

as the night life starts to wake

dancing until the sun rises

or taking in a show, full of surprises

An old man sits in a wood lined pub drowning sorrows

he dreams of yesterday's promised tomorrows

watching life tell stories with every passing footstep

he takes another sip, laced with tears and regret

I like to sit and watch, let the tales take me

let the unspoken words seep through the air

as I watch it all passing me by

but I'm happy to be sat there

in this city that holds me, when the world doesn’t seem to care

Thanks For Reading.

Peace & Love.

Kyle.