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Showing posts from August, 2015

The City Of Crosses

A minute parcel An otherwise vapid point of longitude and latitude Where lofty-minded artists and quail alike, cross Oblivious of its nostalgic worth Yet I'm there each day, in mind Whence we summoned storms and Slashed like hawks through gales of mundane A penny's fortune to our names! Now, lands more vast host rivers of cliche' Languid eyes peer only in way of oppulence Hungry souls gather - populous - lost The pulse beneath now reticent My dear friend, our path now split - overgrown Our land of milk and honey, a cesspool of greed We will meet again, in this realm or next In the city of crosses (c) 2015 Esteban Luis Soto