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TUESDAY, JULY 12, 2016

Bitter cold seeps through the seams
Shift from foot to foot to stay warm
Dream of cozy furs and
Shut out the beating winds

Others run to the same tune
Each step echoes a hundred times
The multitudes in stride as one
In circles along the park's beaten, iron fenced path

A child in pink holds on tight
With blue knuckles clenching a salty pretzel
Her gaze is fixed on the pigeon
Whose beady eyes steadily look back at her

The rat with wings wants to taste her warm prize
She yearns to touch those iridescent feathers
The man who reeks of filth, huddled —watching
Sees that burning desire, and knows well what it is to want.

Down the steps the road is lined with yellow cabs
Peering through the windows beneath dimmed lights
Blood rushes to the cheeks of faceless shapes
As they treasure the three blocks of respite from the chill

Meters running as they crawl
Slowly towards an endless destination
Always grasping at lost seconds
I see it all; I hear the rhythm, the pulse of the city running behind
the same beat.



New York is one of those cities that I bet comes up the most often in poetry but never gets old as a topic because it almost represents every other urban area's aspirations.

On a side note, that's pretty cool how even though WordArc started in Vancouver it has garnered a New York audience... I can't imagine how much writing talent there must be there...I kind of wish I lived there so that I could promote WordArc there better.



Your writing's great. Please share more. :-)

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