Coleman M.

Cold Manhattan

Fall descends upon Manhattan,
cold gusts of air shaking the city.
Millions, even I,
caught in the middle.

Red and gold leaves caress
the chilled ground in front of me,
crunching with every step.

It’s a turning point, summer’s end,
and winter’s appearance,
clutching at the city.

The harsh reality of the easy days
coming to an end.
Free spirits thrown into cold cells,
never to be released.

Awakening from my stupor,
I hear the weary voice coming from my right.
A kindly old man walking next to me.

“Who do you want to be?
Where are you going?” he asks me.

What do I say, am I supposed to know?

“I don’t know.”

“Well, of course you don’t,
but you have to begin to think now...
the easy days have come to a close.”

We walk on in Silence.
The leaves continue to fall,
the wind continues to blow,
and the world grows older.


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.