Wreflective Writing
love is admiration
of the essence
of another
at best, it inspires —
compels you to contort
like a vine, twisting and turning
as it climbs to new heights
love is always a delusion
but it’s a healthy, vital delusion
like optimism
like purpose
like self
I walk in London
Among immense, impossible
spirals of glass, and fantastic, slanting
protrusions of office-bearing stone
Impressive testaments to the city’s ingenuity, modernity
–Or, rather, its wealth
Magnificent, ostentatious temples
like those of Ancient Greeks and Egyptians before
Power symbols of the rich
containing the misery of the poor
When will we learn to wear simple clothes?
When will we measure the strength of a society
Not by the grandeur of its elements
But by the scarcity of its pain?
In thinking of future cities
We must let our imaginations pan down
from the flying cars and floating gardens
of tomorrow’s magnificent skyline
To the darkest, most neglected part of town
– Is it safe there?
