A beautiful figure coated
in the smear of sweat and grease.
This city. The dirt under finger nails.
The blood dripping from old wounds.
She welcomes us. One and all.
To wander through her landscape.
Seeing the rise and fall of her breath,
as slowly buildings are built up and torn down.
She is the land that is left.
A stain of debris mixed with yesterdays dreams.
The face of the city.
So picturesque and pristine
but beneath the mask
lies a dark dirty scene,
where thrives
the artistry of causing pain
and strife.
Where the heartbeat
can be ended
with the flick of a knife.
A sweet floral scent mingles
with the pungent under current,
the stench of death and dismay.
Her perfume
to add a little greenery
to the dreary grey.
Some pleasant lands untouched
by the hands of urban decay.
A blot of ink on a perfect painting,
Her landscape now sits tainted.
Blighted by concrete putrefaction,
she only ever wanted to be the prime attraction.
A sanctuary of solace
for lost souls seeking
their way home.
Now all you hear are the sighs,
The longing sad cries of anguish
heard as she wails inside.
Her boarded shut, litter strew streets.
Closing down signs falling at her feet.
A dulled jewel with no shine.
Nobody to save her from decline.
They have all moved on
to the younger model
across the way,
her building and shops
held in higher sway.
But she is still my city
all she needs is TLC and good company.
Thanks for reading
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