A city, unfamiliar stands tall in the middle of a cold thursday night built into mountains whose memories whisper of time, lost, in the battle of progression, against the icy wrath of the winds of change..thrusting against the surface causing great ware in appearance. It is unseen by man's eye, now covered in buildings, built of the earth, her brother, rearranged. Bearing great weight on her shoulders, she longs for the past. Free of the burden inflicted by time's passing. Betrayed by man. Her radiant green, once so apparant and appreciated goes unnoticed by the average passer by. goes unnoticed by her own, tired eyes, most of ...the time. And when once in a while a friend passes by, they cry for the beauty lost. They cry for the beauty that remains. She is not alone. The tears fall down upson the city, cleaning the air, making it easier to breath, making it easier to think. Easier to see the street lights, the lights from the warmth shared in a city home, the colorful lights captured by man, at a glance little faeirie lights, that reveal her magnificent presense. The beauty she gained illuminates her, and only now does she notice this light that shines, even in the deepest darkness. The exchange of past and present is irreversable, but the future can bear equality if she tries to see the beauty of her metomorphosis, if she tries to open her heavy eyes.
