Chicago
city of working men
of bustling factories
and billowing smoke-stacks
tattooed with graffiti
filled with hearty, loud people
who are constantly going,
building, moving upwards
it is unlike Atlanta, my home,
because she is a conflicted soul,
subsisting for so long in tradition
and now she sits on the brink
of modernity, and cannot decide
to jump in
this city knows who he is
and though I might not know
who that is, I feel its confidence
in the noisy cabbies honking horns,
in the rickety trains on their tracks,
in the million different faces I’ve seen
already, I can see a bold identity
something I cannot claim,
and I will wander on without
forever
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
Chicago
city of working men
of bustling factories
and billowing smoke-stacks
tattooed with graffiti
filled with hearty, loud people
who are constantly going,
building, moving upwards
it is unlike Atlanta, my home,
because she is a conflicted soul,
subsisting for so long in tradition
and now she sits on the brink
of modernity, and cannot decide
to jump in
this city knows who he is
and though I might not know
who that is, I feel its confidence
in the noisy cabbies honking horns,
in the rickety trains on their tracks,
in the million different faces I’ve seen
already, I can see a bold identity
something I cannot claim,
and I will wander on without
forever
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