Every inch of this city has a relic of love

The beginning of the final frontiers

Bestow us an emotion with no motivation or symbolic representation

Bound conformities to a higher state of intrusive oppression

The hourglass will fluctuate as world will intonate

As the city sleeps it permeates an aura of intrinsic passion

These folds are the ripples we fear

The end is nigh as the end is near

This inverted freedom is a figment; as a shadow casts no more then a penciled outline

Montreal is this city; this is only an inch of its mysterious beauty

Brimming with love and consequent chaos

Where our ghosts rise, wandering to this sanctum in premeditated fate

Here our past will become our dreams of the present and confirmed aspirations of the future 

For when this city howls with a ferocious wind; may we find love in death; Hallelujah

Reviews

[Darwyn Sansalone]

Thanks! Intonate is left to the reader to decide, as intonation can be taken by any means of representation. I'll probably work with the punctuation later on, I might add on to the poem, maybe another stanza or two.

[Libby McKeown]

This is a delectable poem in its read. A little punctuation would do wonders for setting an appropriate rhythm, and I wondered about your usage of "intonate"? Other than that, glamorous work!