Concrete. Walls built around my head

Wrought-iron gates. Keeing live from dead

Bird songs. Blurring all the lines

Gray little pebbles. Crashing down the signs

Concrete. Thoughts elapsed since age-old dynasty

Wrought-iron gates. Slowly rusting with the turmouil of the city

Bird songs. Whistling time forsaken tunes

Gray little pebbles. Building homes among the fumes

Concrete. Stories falling from the sky

Wrought-iron gates. Creaking to and fro, and bye

Bird songs. Triumphant in their welcome

Gray little pebbles. Cold in hand, a mountain's crumb.

All in all

the existence

of a dead, new

City