I. Grim-faced and forbidding
Their faces closed tight
An angular mass of New Yorkers
Pacing in rhythm
Race the oncoming night
They chase through the streets of Manhattan
Head-first humanity
Pause at a light
Then flow through the streets of the city.
They seem oblivious
To a soft spring rain
Like an English rain
So light, yet endless
From a leaden sky.
The buildings are lost
In their limitless rise
My feet catch the pulse
And the purposeful stride.
I feel the sense of possibilities
I feel the wrench of hard realities
The focus is sharp in the city.
II. Wide-angle watcher
On life's ancient tales
Steeped in the history of London
Green and grey washes
In a wispy white veil
Mist in the streets of Westminster
Wistful and weathered
The pride still prevails
Alive in the streets of the city.
Are they oblivious
To this quality?
A quality
Of light unique to
Every city's streets.
Pavements may teem
With intense energy
But the city is calm
In this violent sea.
I feel the sense of possibilities
I feel the wrench of hard realities
The focus is sharp in the city.
