Walking into the City - A Narrative Poem

I wrote this over the summer, as an ode to progress and growth.

  • I -

I am walking on a road
it could be anywhere
when I breathe I can taste industry
the sweetness of diesel

A woman is at the side of the road
hanging a wreath around
a white cross

she says

where this road runs to
is a hell
I have been killed by skyscrapers
here I am
mourning myself
where this road runs to
is a hell

The woman
now
is melting into the gravel
it seems
that she was only a ghost
although the wreath that she hung
on her cross
was real enough

it is inconcievable to turn back now
I have nothing to go back to
my feet drag along the shoulder
if this road runs to a hell
then I will go there

Another woman is at the side of the road
traffic has picked up some by now
she is hawking dolls she has made
although
she doesn’t seem
to be selling any

the cars ignore her yelling
she waves dolls at them
and they continue by
her skin looks like leather
her mouth is dry
her eyes have almost
withered shut

woman
how long have you been here
can you really live
by your craft?

she says

I have been here
since I was a little girl
I have no need to eat
I have been here
as long as I can remember

do you wish for anything better?

she says

I am happy at my craft
food and water
are not all that great
I like my place here

despite my interest
I cannot stop
I have come this far
I cannot stay and talk
although I would like to

I continue to walk
the cars are heavy now
they are joined by trucks
carrying oil
and timbers
and blood

A busload of tourists pass me
they point and stare
I am something to be seen
a body among bricks

  • II -

Now I walk under a bridge
the traffic never stops
under the bridge it becomes dark
and I bump into a boy

he falls back
stumbles a bit
and then slips on a spot of oil

I see this all in
the dim light

his hand extends
into the lane of traffic
he is caught on a bar
attached to a trailer

I see this boy’s arm rip off
and it is carried away
as he topples into
traffic
cars bump over him
soon he is just a smear

I turn and see his sister
standing in a faded dress

how can I explain this?
it is but an misfortune
an accident
what can be done?
I have killed
I did not choose this path
it was presented to me

she meets my gaze
her eyes are yellow
like her dress
her face is dirty
as if she has bathed in brake dust

she says

we have lived here all our lives
you have killed my brother
I cannot blame you
it was but a misfortune
an accident
we all leave sometime
had he become a man
he would still have done nothing
but sit with me under this bridge
waiting

waiting for what?

she says

we wait only for death
nothing but cars pass here
we have heard
on the wind
that there is nothing else in the world
only cars
everywhere

we know that this is true
because the wind never lies
and so
in his ten years
he has seen the world
from this buttress
he has died fulfilled
if to have known the world
is to be fulfilled

how can I answer this?
she has made a mockery of my life
in the eyes of children
it is said
one can find honesty
I can find no answer
I spit at her feet

girl
I’ll have none of this
the wind has lied!
there is something to be found!
one remembers these things
I remember
from my childhood
trees and grass
and real people
more than just cars!
you are mistaken
girl

she says

you are wrong
the wind does not lie
there are only cars
maybe some cars
look like these things you remember
but there are only cars
look
in front of you
here is the world

how can I answer this?
I am to be made a fool
by the authority
of a bridge-dwelling toddler
yet she speaks with a wisdom
I have never seen
from the mouths of babes
it is said
one can pull honesty
I can find no answer
I spit at her feet

girl
I cannot believe that

without another word I turn from her
I continue
I pass back into the light
it is blinding
in front of me I see
an endless corridor
the buildings
have sprung up around me

no one looks at me
I am something to be ignored
a brick among bricks

  • III -

I continue to walk
I remember leaving the
little girl behind
staring at her brother
on the road
but I am not to be turned
from my path

it seems there is only
a single path
to follow
beside the road
I cannot turn
I cannot go back

it is becoming cold
I suspect that the
buildings are still
increasing in height as I walk
but I cannot
see their tops
and
I have not seen their
tops for miles

it is freezing
traffic has not slowed
the road must be salted
for hours
I have watched
the sheets of ice
on the walls
thicken
become glacial

I meet a man
tacking posters to the ice
he is naked
but has thick hair on his back
he appears skinny
his feet and hands are blue

what do these say?

he says

I was an artist once
what have I become?
I cannot see for the cold
my hands barely work
and in their last moments
I would have them
wallpaper the city
with worthlessness!

I cannot fathom his lament
to me it is a simple thing

sir
one must move
if one is to stay warm

he says

I used to move!
I have been eaten up
I have lost my intention
I thought I had
understood the world
and in that moment
I lost whatever
it was that I had found
all my life I was an artist
I will never find beauty now
my chance has passed
I can see nothing now

sir
I cannot accept this
I am an artist myself
I trek through this city
to see the world
that I may bring it
home on a brush
I cannot accept this
my way will never be lost
it cannot be!

he says

This city is for no one
the people here do not eat
they do not talk
guard yourself
you are but a person
and people
here
are lost

I spit at his feet

sir
I cannot believe this!
I have not come for nothing!

the man stares at me
I see eyes through his
ice-crusted hair
against a background of
whirling snowflakes
I see him mouth the words

I too once lived

all I hear is cars
the hum of engines
and the bass rumble
of eighteen wheeled trucks
hitting imperfections
in the road
I see the mans eyes
they burn a fiery red
singeing his
ice-crusted
hair
I see him mouth the words

we are all lost

I see the man
in slow motion
drop his hammer and tacks
and begin to run
to push himself towards the road

in front of my eyes
a naked
blind
man
dives from the sidewalk
laughing
and is picked out of the air
by a cargo van
his iciness
has ended
mine has only begun

Wow - this is one of the best poems I have read by anyone posting on this site. Kudos friend. Kinda reads like a post-modern Rime Of The Ancient Mariner with shades of Howl, Ozimandias, Wastelands and Paradise Lost written as Thom Yourke of Radiohead would write it.

lhw - AKA: THe Straight-faced Clown AKA: M.C. Tape-Hiss