|
Grim faced and forbidding |
|
Their faces closed tight |
|
An angular mass of New Yorkers |
|
Pacing in rhythm |
|
Race the oncoming night |
|
They chase through the streets of Manhattan |
|
Head first humanity |
|
Pause at a light |
|
Then flow through the streets of the city |
|
They seem oblivious |
|
To a soft spring rain, like an English rain |
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So light, yet endless from a leaden sky |
|
The buildings are lost |
|
In their limitless rise |
|
My feet catch the pulse |
|
And the purposeful stride |
|
I feel the sense of possibilities |
|
I feel the wrench of hard realities |
|
The focus is sharp in the city |
|
Wide angle watcher |
|
On life's ancient tales |
|
Steeped in the history of London |
|
Green and gray washes |
|
In a wispy white veil |
|
Mist in the streets of Westminster |
|
Wistful and weathered |
|
The pride still prevails |
|
Alive in the streets of the city |
|
Are they oblivious |
|
To this quality? |
|
A quality of light unique |
|
To every city streets |
|
Pavements may teem |
|
With intense energy |
|
But the city is calm |
|
In this violent sea |
|
I feel the sense of possibilities |
|
I feel the wrench of hard realities |
|
The focus is sharp in the city |
