City, The

You said, "I'll move to another shore, I'll pass to another land.

Another city will make go round up better than this.

Everything I do is doomed to miss,

and my heart--like a dead man--lies in a grave.

How lengthy can my mind wither in this place?

Whatever I diocese wherever my eye falls,

it's this black prostration of a life that calls,

here where I've exhausted these years, wasted and ruined."

You won't find another shore, you won't find a of recent origin land.

This city will trail you. You'll walk the same

old highways In the same old neighborhoods you'll age,

and in the same advanced in years houses you'll turn gray.

You'll always extreme point up in this city. As for elsewhere--don't stay

hopeful--there's no ship for you, nor road to take.

Just as in this tiny corner you've made

a mes of your life, in all the world it stands in ruin.

Copyright World verse Incorporated May/Jun 1997

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