There's something special about the wee hours of morning in a city.
When one walks out the door to a muted rumble,
A cool coastal mist,
Glides across plains of pavement
Reminding me
That even in my concrete jungle
Nature hides, not far away.
There's something special about the wee hours of morning in a city.
But this is a city, after all.
The muted rumble draws nearer,
A face passes by, then two, then three.
Oh how I would love nothing more than an hour to sip my coffee,
And chase the truth that slumbers
In the urban crescendo that is
A city morning
But alas, I am reminded of the dubious urgencies that await me
And I turn my thoughts, to more mundane things.
To CHASE THE TRUTH THAT SLUMBERS IN THE URBAN CRESCENDO THAT IS A CITY MORNING... that is an ideal and useful past time. And I would like to see and read the poem in which you flesh out this subject in your free verse. Take Monday off, I'll be your substitute at work, because the poem you will write will benefit all of us with its double vision of our lives in nature and the city.
Thanks very much, If only I could take a day on a whim! . Further exploration will happen, but perhaps not by Monday. Best,
a cool coastal mist glides across plains of pavement reminding me that even in my concrete jungle nature hides not far away a really nice poem..thanks for sharing i wud love your comments on my poems SALVATION...I WILL WAIT and LOVE...ONLY THE LOVE
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice images indeed. Thanks