Reflections on THE city.


Sweat of millions taint the air.
Millions rush here to there.
Not one soul with thoughts laid bare.
Who designs the masks they wear?
As they rush from here to there.

Rush here to there from task to task,
all the faces one must pass.
Not to stare, not to feel
all must wear masks of steel.

Nothing green and nothing quiet
one can feel the human riot.
Hopes and fears and thoughs of schemes.
One can hear the crys of dreams,
trying hard to escape this scene.

Behind bolted door and guarded gate
all the evils one must hate,
but one great evil got inside,
Idle thoughs alone inside...


Paul Breed
10/17/96


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