New York City

 

A busy city with busy people
With dreams and aspirations crammed into 22 sq. miles
The restless hustle and blaring horns 
People looking for a life reborn

 

Keeping their eyes low and walking fast
Cars that always slam on the gas
Every street has a different story, and every story has a different listener.
A tiny world of its own,
But the city keeps getting bigger.

 

Returning to my routine 
And missing the place I'd rather be,
Day in and day out doing the same thing
After moments have become distant memories.

 

The place I will one day live, won't sit and wait for me,
But I still dream of New York City as the place I want to be.

This poem is about: 
Me
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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