On Cities


‘No place is boring’
The old man says.

‘But there’s nothing to do here,
there’s only a handful of ways’
I say
‘to go to places worth seeing,
to go to places worth being,
that aren’t old, tired or worn,
places still frequented,
places still known.’

The old man considers me
and continues with a sigh,
‘aye this place is old, yes,
and it shall still be here when you die.’

He said,
‘would you pick a fight,
with something much older than you,
could you try to hold the earth down,
if it decided to move?
And if it picked itself up, and went for a stroll,
or took an interest in you,
and it determined you to rue?’

‘What would you do then boy?
when the roads are not roads,
and the streets are bare,
when the place you looked down on,
decides not to care –
about you or your ways or your walk of life?’

‘You will be lost then,
there’s many places to be lost in,
In a place like this, where the stones are older than sin.’

‘Take care son,
see that you don’t offend the rocks.
don’t go around opening doors,
that are meant to be locked.’

And that was that,
and the old man left,

I then, went out in the night,
To see the city, and breathe in its lights.

After all you know,

I won’t lie,

This place is an old place,

And I want it to watch over me till I die.