Fred Aiken Writing

the resounding hum of the (neoplasm) world outside,

amalgamations honking; voices amplified,

the (once great, but never for long) metropolis that never sleeps nor ceases to inspire, power and rhythm, sucking,

energy-in, carbon-out

brilliant lights twinkle like constellations in the sky,

not that they can be seen in the glow of the city lights,

ignited by photons,

surging through the unknown lattice of steel and concrete

structures of wonder,

structures of impediment,

structures of progress,

unique thunder, hue stricken, every shade, and every guise,

holding a story that never dies, but certainly never lived