This City

Journeyman, you know where you’re going to—
You know the city you wish to live in.

The streets are lined with colorful cars you’ve imagined in your youth,
lampposts that lit your daydreams.

The asphalt and concrete cradled your dreams at night.

And slowly you reached here – roads were uncertain on your way here,
Twisting, turning, twisting – but you’re here,

And the mornings should’ve been beautiful in this city.

But think again, Journeyman, this house that you sleep in.
These walls that should keep you warm,
This roof that should keep you safe,

They are stained and tainted, filthy and impure.
Their cracks and crevices hide rats most vile
That nibble at your best shoes
And defecate in your teacups.

They lay their furless young in your rice bin!

Journeyman, you know the city you wish to live in;
It is not perfect, and you knew it before.

When will you realize this house is not a house
But a grave?

The city’s lights will be faded through its windows,
The city’s sounds muffled through its barricades.

You've arrived in the city.
Do not settle for its broken neighborhoods.