A million lives are packed in this city,
and each one struggles to be its own self:
the starving, rotund, ugly, and pretty --
the tailored and those who buy off-the-shelf.
And everyone fails, yet they all succeed
in being different, while being alike.
And they all heal, while they also all bleed,
and almost all would survive a first strike.
Everyone knows someone - just not neighbors.
They love to remain enigmatic at home,
while transparent with those who share labors --
though some want everyone to leave them alone.
A city is a strange place full of strangers,
and those who choose it thrive on its dangers.
What a way to live one's life, in
a cabin made of wood;
never to be governed by: "I
have to! I must! I should!"
To set one's sights on the day's needs
as one's only master,
and not be told, "you move too slow,
you must live life faster."
To start the day by a cue from
rays of the rising sun.
To end the day when the day ends,
not only just've begun.
everything is one thing.
the way we are rivers.
and all things are nothing;
as takers are givers.
i'm flow-er and flow-ee --
twisting as I'm drifting,
not fancy or showy
nor highly uplifting.
just a leaf on a stream,
bumping into others,
gliding through a fond dream
with sisters and brothers.