City Skeletons 7

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I've been to many cities.

I have paced the narrow, shadowed streets of Manhattan, embraced by the steel and glass giants that cover the sun.

I have trailed the paths of kings and queens in old London and Westminster Towns, surrounded by all colors, all races, all creeds.

I have lost myself in enchanted Venice, seeking wonderful masks in every corner of its ancient stone walls, its water burried streets.

I have traced dirty, ugly Athens, smelling pollution every second, while ancient Gods whisper in street corners.

I have dragged myself through the humid heat of Bangcock, where freeways fly high between skyscrapers, brushing windows where families dine.

I have cruised the brown chocolate arteries of Cairo, where every hour of the day is a rush hour filled with thousands of working ants and cars bumping cars in a surreal funfair.

I have walked the Autumn golden Prague and chased the shadows of misterious puppets through its cobbled streets.

I have felt the cold Viena, its grim alleys and grimmer inhabitants, wandering the Christmas treasure filled street fairs.

I have conquered bright, imposing Paris, felt the strong brush of its ancient artists.

I have burried my footsteps in the beautiful Rio, felt the fresh forest breeze mingle with the warm, salty sea wind.

I have strolled the gay, elegant Rome, where death was once fun for the mobs inside the great Coliseum.

I have slid through cold, romantic Porto, searching for my other self.

And I carved my footprint a long time ago into pretty, pink, melancholic Lisbon, my city.

And in all of these cities I have tried to lose myself. For never do you really know a metropolis, unless you allow yourself to be lost in its depths, embraced by its secrets, overwhelmed by its ghosts.