Its passageway’s are dark and deep

The city sleeps.

 

Traffic stops in the late night hours

Leaving the tunnels and passageways empty and echoing.

 

The statues that adorn the bridges and street corners stand in silence,

Their presence as forgotten as the craftsman who carved them.

 

Does anyone ever see them?

Does anyone ever care?

 

Buildings sit inches away from each other,

Built to use every bit of space,

 

None is wasted

None is.

 

They build closer and closer

Taller and taller until the sky is blocked out leaving no reminders of what is real.

 

The bus I ride from the airport to South Station navigates the empty streets, turning and sliding past the emotionless statues, the empty tunnels,

 

Past the tunnel doors that lead to nowhere and follows the

Streets and turns made just wide enough to fit through, does someone actually plan these places?

 

Or do they grow by themselves, out of each other

In layers and layers of cement and iron bars.

 

I feel the need to be silent in the dark empty city night.

The bus interior is dark except for my reading light

 

A tiny light illuminating

Just what is below it – me and my pen and paper.

 

Am I the only one who is really here

The only on paying attention …

 

All else fades to darkness in the back of the bus

The end of the tunnel, the dark and abandoned South Station.

 

It is an odd sensation thinking of the millions who lay sleeping all around me. As wildlife sleep at night, hidden out of sight in the forest.

 

The city draws the millions to it, holds them here, caught in the rush and sorrow of a life of illusion, but too busy to notice.

 

It is only in the dark of early morning that

The beauty and truth of this place is revealed.

 

Minus the noise, crowds, exhaust fumes and indifference,

The city glows with a knowing internal presence.

 

I feel its sadness like the bridge and

Street corner statues feel it.

 

They and I recognize each other as the neglected and forgotten ones.

Only alive when noticed but only noticed by each other

 

And only when the city sleeps.

 

MC 5-20-16

 

“I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch

Love is not a victory march

It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah”

Leonard Cohen

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