Tags
big apple, city, culture, life style, NYC, poem, Poetic, poetry, rhythm, train, Words, write, writer
Legend has it:
When a New Yorker’s phone dies
And they seek to find
“My way back home”,
They kiss their ears with the sun-kissed pavement;
Concrete sidewalk,
And let their soul connect to the undergrounds:
The rushing, swivel
Tunnel.
Fetch for distinct sounds of
Rumbling; Tumbling
Awakening,
Belonging; Life.
Follow all that noise–
A screetch known to be cultural
To the nearest train station.
In NYC, every train points Home.
Sircharlesthepoet 