Shot Gun City

Brought from Romania

Shipped over from home

And now I'm here,

To help myself.

 

But to head back to family

Would hurt the most.

If I could ride the horse

Through the tiny corridors 

of Italy once again

I would.

 

But no.

 

My family needs this.

to see this city crumble

would be the death of you.

 

So now we see eye to eye 

With Paisley in

The background

And feet unmoved;

For I stand tall

And you do not.

 

No one lives in New York,

They say now 

They move on.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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