These streets are awake
The lights offer a path to follow
Look up and not down to see
The treetops and brims of sky
Look out to see the painted houses
Of brick and melted yellow
Nowhere to be seen is order
The chaos is what makes it
Beyond words, beyond eyes.
It houses nostalgia of youth
It fears and celebrates death.
This city is mine but not for long
How I'll miss its descendants
Its language of old
The battered, the beaten
All the untold
Feb 16, 2022
Feb 16, 2022 at 9:03 AM UTC
These streets are awake
The lights offer a path to follow
Look up and not down to see
The treetops and brims of sky
Look out to see the painted houses
Of brick and melted yellow
Nowhere to be seen is order
The chaos is what makes it
Beyond words, beyond eyes.
It houses nostalgia of youth
It fears and celebrates death.
This city is mine but not for long
How I'll miss its descendants
Its language of old
The battered, the beaten
All the untold
Brooklyn. My city, my home. I hated you for so long- only because I could not find the strength to find the beauty within me. Brooklyn, you're alright;)