A wise man once wrote

that courtesy is a silver lining

around the dark clouds of civilization.

And here,

the city makes it’s tracks from the stuff,

lines its streets and fortifies

its soul with it.

Tempered and graceful,

it dips its azure crown

into the inky blackness of night

and rewards us with its newfound knowledge by day.

Yet what best it give us,

beside motherly platitudes

and fatherly love,

is best personified

in the sky streaking heir

of greater promise.




A messenger of the Gods,


made flesh

Stretching a lining all his own

of blue and arch red

across the tapestry of the skies,

beneath which the little people

no longer feel so

and the smallest of them

know what it is to touch the Gods.

For the Gods have taken it upon their already troubled brows

to touch those

who have,

in essence

breathed them into existence.