Vacant faces with no traces,
Of what’s happening inside.
Always rushing never slowing,
To secret places they glide.
Voices shouting, ears not hearing,
Places sought to hide.
Men are digging, machines are hammering,
Sanity does collide.
City heaving, no one breathing.
No resting place to reside.
Rhythms of a city. Noises without pity.
Take me to the countryside!
© 2013, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved.