My City

The concrete jungle speaks. I hear its voice
“Give me liberty or give me death!”
It echoes. God speaks in this city.
The city will not escape its ghosts.
Stones on an urban street, carved stones.
Carrying memories past, present, future, forward.

A dream, personal goals moving forward.
Rebirth, to find in oneself a new voice
Escaping the past, but embracing the stones.
Longing to avoid a spiritual death,
and to find a future in the past, with all its ghosts
I must immigrate to the beautiful new city.

I will find myself in this city.
Snapping banner pressing ever forward
Exorcise the demons, exercise the ghosts
One with a people, one with a voice
“Give me liberty or give me death”
Embracing the majesty of imperfect stones.

Don’t stop. For music, rolling like the Stones
For history. Capture the enemy’s Capitol city

Out with the Rebels, even in death
They hold us back. Charging forward,
we must unite as one! But with many voices
admit, and make amends for the ghosts.

In the cemetery, leave the ghosts.
When they had flesh, they carved the stones,
exercising an archaic voice
to let the war haunt the city.
Future bound, a new hope carries forward
Ashen photos of passionate death.

But a kinder brand of fiery death,
rebuilds, attempts to ignore the ghosts.
Nothing past that cannot move forward.
With or without the graven human stones
and its history, this living, breathing city
will Rise again. A one and many voice!

Defend or destroy the precious stones,
The Union and I will storm this new city!
And shout from the rooftops my unleashed voice!

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