The Old Empire City

Yellow Haze _{(Credit: World Trade Center Photo Archives)}

Inspired by “I’m God” by Clams Casino

Sodium lights of yesteryear pattern imposing towers 
With constellations of golden, glowing windows.
Once the sun almost vanishes from the sky,
like a lover gone when morning comes,
Only a hint of blue remains.

A lost world captured on grainy film.
Behemoth beacons blurred by heavy eyelids.
This city, so corrupt at its core yet still so pure of heart, 
Has a way of sedating the strongest spirits
With a gritty, untouched past written in charred brick and chipped paint.

There’s a brutal chill in the air
That cuts and bites at weak flesh and makes the teeth shudder.
You can’t stand the cold, and there is nothing to entertain you on the walk home,
So you pop the collar on your coat, shove your hands in its pockets,
And beg that something interesting is awake in this city that never sleeps.

Senses scan for stimulation on the trip home.
Boxy cars grumble in the brief moments they’re free of traffic,
And subway cars turned canvases rattle on tracks above the congestion.
The city streets are filled with trash,
And a chorus of strangers all speaking in different tongues.

Unique signs for mom and pop stores,
Faded and scarred by the weather and metropolitan life, 
Advertise everything from pharmacies to auto shops.
The din of diners and the buzz of neon 
Spill onto sidewalks packed with other transient souls.

The televisions in the electronics shop are playing the news,
A few people are gathered around, but you continue walking
Past apartment buildings which were once resplendent,
But now bear the stale smell of too much history. 
Other travelers shuffle past on their way to train stations and bus stops.

It’s easier to stare out the window at the world,
With all its depressing, dispassionate, draining demands 
While you dream of something better.
Someone may have lived this life, in all its rose-tinted imperfection,
But that someone was never me.