The City

Unknown

I stood in the balcony with a smoke and a coffee. 

All I could think of,

As I stared somewhat vaguely into the abyss of concrete giants and millions of dazzling lights, was this: 

This city will not defeat me. No, it won't.

For the past few moons and suns, 

Away from everything that made me what I am, the city invoked a myriad of emotions in me. 

The city held my hand

And walked me through lonesome depression to drunken fortitude

From stressed disorientation to resolved elation 

So many times and in so many ways. 

The city tried to scare me. It tried to coax me. It tried to strangle me and then

The city breathed some life into me. The city is perspective.

I leaned against the naked wall with a smoke and a glass of wine.

(In hindsight, induced intoxication was perhaps never my forte.)

I looked through the concrete robots and the glass windows which entrap numerous stories.

I looked through them to catch a glimpse of my half baked soul

Somehow dangling from one of the clouds as it floats over the indigo lake

Somehow raging and somehow screaming, 

In its muted, yet terrible voice - 

This city will not defeat me. No, it won't.