In storytelling, there is a type of narrative

          That winds around your heart like vines

          Old roses and thorns reach for the sunlight

In a spiral staircase of piano keys

Playing the same melody

           Until it touches the truth.

I liken this academic observation

To the sidewalks that curb in suburban snakes

So orderly and planned

           Straight lines that align with the four winds

Here

I am never fully aware of the self

My heart beats a rhythm

           It wanders with my gaze

           Searching for the path that vanished beyond the haze

But like the rays of the sun

All roads connect to the origin point

           Curving inwards, a sculpted rose

It's nature's smile on mankind's land

Urging old grievances and ghosts

To find new directions despite the measured distance

          Built years ago.

From the deepest parts of below

The story uncoils

Air

Lifts words and straightens their backs

Strums aged strings that stand like staffs

Sings a city that blooms in midair

And cements itself as a grateful soul 

Proud as the sky above.

Hello everyone. I never thought I'd feel nostalgic or sad about finishing a collection, but I am! Cement City was my stab at writing some concise poems while keeping my "Jade flair" as my friends call it. I am eternally grateful for the small but loyal readership my poems have gained. Sadly, I am retiring this collection, as I frankly feel that I've run out of things to talk about concerning my city (thanks, pandemic). Until I make some new experiences, it might be a while before I write any new poems...come to think of it, I need a new theme! What to write, I wonder....

I am currently in the short-story/novel writing mode, so The Nightly Montage will be updated weekly, and Crossroads is under construction behind the scenes. Until then, I bid you adieu. Thank you for sticking around. You guys are the very best.

Jade H. Foliage