Saturday, April 24, 2010
This is a poem that I wrote while looking at a picture of New York City that hangs in my room. I just love how the city comes alive at night so I thought I'd write a poem about it.
The City At Night
The lights of the city are never turned off.
All night they burn like stars above,
Bright as the streetlights that hang aloft.
The wind blows through the streets, so sweet and so soft.
And oft I hear unruly sounds all around but instead,
It turns to music when I close my eyes.
Funny, the sounds that people found so stilted,
Turns into a symphony inside my head.
As I close my eyes, I can feel the lights;
The buildings whisper and the pavement laughs.
The curtains won’t be lowered until daylight,
And there’s nothing quite like the city at night.
The night comes, curtains are drawn, spot lights glisten;
The talking becomes music and streetlights become spotlights.
Everyone on the street takes their positions,
And soon everyone becomes a musician.
It all feels so fluid, like a well-rehearsed dance,
We’re all walking in step as if we’ve done it before.
The streets are our stage—the world, our audience.
The music leaves me spellbound and entranced.
The screeching of tires and closing of doors is like a song,
Everything is like an instrument in an orchestra.
The footsteps like flutes and car horns like gongs;
A song that plays all night long.
The ambulance sirens are like a violin,
Adding to the music with its sad harmony.
I hear it come and soon its gone again,
So haunting, so lovely, but what a sad song it is.
And soon, the dancers begin their ballet—
Their walking and running is like an elaborate dance.
As people finished watching the shows on Broadway,
More and more people begin to flood the stage.
We’re all walking in step, yet going different ways,
Every step feels fluid, like a dance or a song.
We’re all so different yet the still same,
We’re the blood that runs through the city’s veins.
It’s my own private show, each night something new,
You can hear it to if you know how to listen.
I’m a part of the band, but in the audience too:
All day the dancers practice and the instruments are tuned.
Then it all bursts out at night like a show on Broadway,
And it plays out before me once the daylight is gone.
Every soul, a seasoned dancer, who has practiced all day,
To come out at night and dance on this stage.
But soon the curtain appears in the form of daylight,
The show is over yet there is no applause.
As the dancers exit the stage, the music dies.
I can’t wait to see the show again tonight.
Posted by alyssa at 7:06 AM