For years and years,
I've dreamed of leaving my city.
I've always wanted to see other places,
meet new people.
But I suppose my city has its own charm,
old buildings needing a new coat of paint.
Maybe they've got stories to tell,
stories of war, of love, of the people who've visited their empty halls.
And as I travel through my city,
I see the character it's built.
I see past its cracked walls,
and dingy exteriors.
I will learn to love my city,
and discover its secrets.
Soon I'll explore every nook and cranny,
of my city.
YOU ARE READING
the city
Poetryand no matter how much you water scorched grass and withering weeds, you will never make a garden re-grow -M.R c.2016
