Metropolis

For anyone who misses the sounds of a bustling city.

Slow wind, swirling past the tops of skyscrapers,

Glancing through office windows. Lights. Morning. Sunrise.

Fast cars now, swerving past the bases of skyscrapers.

People moving into the office doors. Bustling. Busy.

Like a colony of ants. Miasma of red, green, yellow

And honking and beeping. Conversations and phone calls

Echoing and vibrating and pulsating through the heart

Of the city. Then slowly, it slows. Lazily. People working

In tiny cubicles, while the streets remain bare.

Occasional schools and playgrounds flooded

With chirping and chattering children. Slowly changing into

The adults who will one day sit and work

In tiny cubicles, while the streets remain bare.

Afternoon. Work over. People streaming back out

Into the streets, back out into their homes, into their

Lives. Jovial, the working class returns home. Cars,

Headlights, line the streets. The sun sets, and the lights switch on.

The sun may sleep but the city never does. Then,

Sunrise again, and a new day starts. Again.

New day, new dawn, new work. Metropolis.