The City is my nightlight,
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her noises my lullabies.
She rocks me to sleep in her stone-cold arms,
holding a patient vigil over my quiet dreams.
I awake to sirens in my head,
but her blue shadows hush my mind to rest.
I turn once to look at the glowing digits defining time
And blink once more at the orange polka dots in the window.
Six stories below, the street is almost quiet,
and I sleep again.
There are many things you have to do in life, but you cannot ignore the roses. When they demand to be seen, one simply has no choice but to go to them.