Brief

Tranquil streets once ushered me into their depths.

Of the smell of wet moss, of sudden summer rain,

Kissing the angry architecture that looked comfortably forlorn-

Scenaries of the grey metropolis, mere visions now,

Waiting to crumble away.

The schizophrenic river once ushered me into her depths.

Of the smell of home,

Warm beginnings and the doom that awaits poets.

I failed to read prophecies,

Not that there were many.

I found an exit in the sky.