Berlin: Day Two

Day Two

You imagine an intricate tale of romantic youth,

Star-crossed excitement, whilst your peers are stunned,

Lapping up each and every stolen moment of bliss,

Swaying and stumbling to the blood-red beat,

Nothing seems to matter, although

It really, really does.

Whoredom and artistry will no longer take place,

Ideological clouds are forming,

But they don’t dissipate from rain,

Momentum is building; the concrete buildings can feel it,

The night is an odyssey, although

For some it is less epic.

Memory deceives those who fought for themselves,

But the truth will persist in those who thought and withheld,

Wine stained lips, drunk on the blood of The Other,

Their money, their power, but never their brother.

The rebel and the girl with no sense of decorum,

Out of control, dangerous, but never suffering from boredom.

Take a bow modern man, and empathise without fear,

Because underneath it all you yearn for a day in the life, a taste of the year,

When everything changed and life was real,

Not rehashed, and regurgitated, and already peeled,

Nineteen, Thirty-Nine; which juncture will you choose,

To mark your make, or let it hang loose.

A city can re-emerge from rubble and wreck, although

A person cannot.