by Erin Smyth

Created on: September 26, 2009   Last Updated: September 27, 2009

The City


Where skyscrapers grow like blades of grass,
From beds of cement not earth,
And worms of steel and metal hurtle forward,
Traveling underground unseen.

No oxygen is given,
Only air of gray to darken the lungs of,
The tiny bustling ants that hurry with little purpose,
Fearing that if they don't they will not survive.

For where they live depend of cruelty,
Requiring coldness for its inhabitants,
As if crime is the feed that makes it grow,
And what it needs to exist and thrive.

It has no sex, neither father nor mother
For these are not its children,
It is only what it has been made by them,
A creature with no heart nor loyalties.

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