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My city... Take a walk on its little streets, in this labyrinth of houses and trees hiding the torn apart fences... Take a walk through this dark archway, and see how you reach this inner patio, so full of light. And what secret does it hold for you? An antique shop? Or maybe even an old wise woman, sitting on the bench and awaiting you, there for you to help you get rid of all the pain, there for you to cry with your head on her lap, there for you to help ou go on.

Wander the park in this sunny day...What nymph of the night left her white, silk scarf in the tall blooming grass? And step further, and if the sun is high enough, see this mountain peak in the distance, in the blue mist, and remember you'll die too and the tall blooming grass will hide all your love and all your hate, but this peak will be there forever.

Or come and linger in the city's core. Hear this boy with dark-brimmed eyes playing his guitar and feel his song deep inside you, sensual and mad like your heart beating... Look at the walls, no concert posters, but a beautiful charcoal drawing, of a tree encased in a tear, whose leafs are crying eyes. Who sneaked at night and put them all here, and opened us windows to a soul so fragile, yet so pure? Wait here all night, and the next day, the pictures will be gone, new ones will appear, but you will see nobody. Come, come with me, and maybe we'll get to see her one day, wandering to us. Come, maybe she's here, in the library. And even if she isn't, you'll find here all the riches of the world, find here this new dawn awaiting. And here she is, the keeper, and here she gives you this old book and dissapears in the labyrinth of shelves. No, don't follow, just look. Look at the barren pages, and hide it away near your heart. And learn to go on.

Here it is, this weird shop, seashells and African idols lay in this lightbearing room, hidden behind rich, heavy drapery. Feel the smells, thousands of different aromas, and just a lock of your hair will buy you any of those mystical perfumes, to enchant your heart with twice its magic. Feel your soul heavy with mist, heavy with the calls of the women of're standing here on the bridge, and the river flows with murky waters, weed floating on its waves...Throw a pebble and see the ripples, see how everything you do reverberates over time, and go on.

Cross the railway, wander through the jungle of concrete and steel, feel the sadness and the futility of it all. You're nothing but dust, you're nothing to this world, and nobody will miss you when you'll die. Isn't that a razorblade shining in the puddle at your feet, and as you bow to take it, ripples reverberate in it with a refreshing, soothing sound. And it rains, it finally rains, and all the evil is washed away, and all the concrete and steel, the river and the razorblade are hidden deep inside you, in your own private Pandora's box and only you can set them free. Run barefoot through the rain, showering on your heart and soul, and feel like a child again, for the sun now shines again and the rainbow rises from your soul, my dear.But here they are, away from the sun, swarming in the northern skies. The crows, wandering souls like you. And they're coming and they're going, majestic and free, and they're coming and they're going, and they tell you it is the time, it is the time to tread onto the city's main street.

Yes, I know, you've lived so many lives on here, you've wandered this road, wandered below the arches of the linden trees, solar trees, heading the way upwards. yes, I know you've walked past the bookshops and the old university with its azure paintings...I know you've walked past the lindens,through the oak forest and to that white building where they would welcome you for peace and rest forever. But now it's winter and the whole world is white and blue like a pagan Madonna. You may take the warm, cozy bus, but will you enjoy the ride? Better walk. And there you go, I love you, you always knew, but now go free. Walk and walk, it's easy to get lost in the white white world, and the air is thinner, and you don't know if this is a field anymore, more like the highest plateau, and now you know the bus stops at the white building, the sanitarium, and now you know you're free but lost, lost forever in the white hell, but are you?

And then you see, on the snow, the marks of her feet. And then you see her, the soul so fragile, yet so pure, in her white bridal gown, sleeping in the snow. And then you take her in your arms, see her eyes open to the light, to the azure, but mostly to you. You know now, you're not treading on a field, nor a plateau, just the snow-white clouds of Heaven, and you open the book you carried next to your soul, and you both read the story of your eternal love, engraved in letters of sunrise and, forever one, fade to the dawn. Forever.


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The following comments are for "The city"
by Dew Of Blood

The City
Quite an ambitious prose poem. Lots of mystical, spiritual and masochistic love energy. Needs alot of editing. Much of this poem is highly subjective so I don't think it will be accessible to most readers. I enjoyed reading it on an intuitive level.

( Posted by: gomarsoap [Member] On: October 3, 2003 )

To me, poetry is meant to read as the spirit of something distilled into imagery that is viscerally understood by the reader. This poem just didn't do that for me. I guess, to each his own.



( Posted by: desconocida [Member] On: April 29, 2004 )

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