Sun-rises over antique facades
Streams of gold strain through
300 year old streets.
Cobble stoned to newly paved they
Run afoul tinted yellow-green
With a stench stinking through
senses of sight and smell
It creeps carefully behind
the guise of sweet ruby colored
alcohol.
Through the shallow waist high rails
of Parisian balconies
This odor permeates
with sabotaging subterfuge
Attacking in vain to stop the beat
of a city
whose pulse can be felt through
fingertip.
She rests along the streaming river,
Scantly clad and wickedly tempered.
Waiting not in silence but in drunken
Song.
Oh! you stole my soul long
ago you need not shout,
My Lady Fleur De Lis
-- A poem I wrote for an English class this semester. It will eventually be workshopped and ripped apart so I wanted to post it here to be able to look back on it.
Having recently been to New Orleans I still have all the feelings and sensations quite vivid in my mind that I felt I needed to flesh them out in some capacity. This poem, by consequence of the class I'm taking, has given me that medium.
-- r.M
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