Paris

Paris,

Your cobblestoned streets,

Draw me in,

You beckon,

Call,

Your voice, moving early morning to noon,

Is like a growing crescendo,

As you open your sleep filled eyes,

And embrace the good sun,

Your wide, grand avenues,

They dance and shimmer and sway in the cool summer breeze,

While fashionable ladies parade and stroll through your soul.

Vendors stretch in their beds,

And open their eyes,

Ten A.M. brings the morning bells to light,

And a movement of energy ripples through your heart.

You light up at night,

Like a young girl on her way to her first date,

Bright and glowing and smiling,

Yet you are not young,

You are very old,

But you are so beautiful, ethereal,

And cold.

Like the most beautiful play,

Your curtain falls,

Leaving me behind in a world that I did not recall,

I had ever lived in.

Your cold silence,

Like the leaving of a lover’s embrace,

Feels like a bullet embedded in my heart,

So cold and fickle you deny,

And remember I do what I was once told,

“Paris, she does not want you,

You are not wise enough to know the tricks to her soul.”

So I think that,

I will just go.