Dragon
Our dragons are real;
they are born from our fears, and
they’re slain by our faith.
Our dragons are real;
they are born from our fears, and
they’re slain by our faith.
City of Angels
with a bad reputation
and a heart of gold.
In our wanton hubris
and brutish ways,
we cut at the world;
we leave it bleeding
and weeping for us.
A den of lions…
Who the heck am I kidding –
scum-sucking maggots.
Your rose-colored memories
have faded away,
lost their luster,
and now the remnants
sit like ashes
waiting to be discarded.
Fruity old city,
you know how to decorate
all the boring squares.
Oft loved by lovers,
an unsurprising landmark –
phallic centerpiece.
Life goes on –
through strife and sorrow,
floods and famine,
and hellish heat.
Life goes on –
through bitterness
and endless tears
which o’rflow the rivers.
Life goes on –
remember this
through wretched days
and haunting nights:
Life is persistent.
Life sustains.
Life does not give up.
Life remains,
and goes on.
A city rebuilt,
the fire of their bombs only
seemed to temper it.
This patchwork quilt city is composed
of buildings all lined up in rows,
though their stories are of different hues:
reds and browns and whites and blues.
And towering over the different peoples
are the restaurant roofs and church steeples
who compose an elegant skyline,
both jagged and yet quite sublime.
But woven through the very work
are the opinions, pride, and, yes, the quirks
of all the people who live here
who think it mad, yet hold it dear.