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


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