Poetry and Prose

She Sleeps

The city, she sleeps in the glow of incandescent light.
Her once moonlit view of hillsides and landscapes
Now encased within limits of steel towers and glass.
And as poisonous neon spreads and devours the stars,
She sleeps.

The city, she sleeps in the beds of her lovers,
The investment bankers, CEOs and politicians.
Her blanket quilted from bonds and bills,
Sewn together with threads of gold.
And on the pillows of broken dreams,
She sleeps.

The city, she sleeps whilst her tenants weep.
The pimps and whores seduce the lonely
As murderers and rapists pervert her hallways.
And while there’s no rest for the wicked,
She sleeps.

The city, she sleeps with dreams of democracy.
Give her your hungry, your tired, and your poor,
Huddle them in masses just outside her door.
As they cry out, “We the people, for the people, by the people,”
The city, she sleeps.

-D.A. Baker

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