By Mark A. Leon

This concrete jungle so poignant in its softness
A gentle rose born to a cement foundation
A tree amongst the brick walls separating rich from poor

Asleep on the pee stained sidewalk a man ponders his mistakes
A child cries as the nightlight fades
A woman gives away her body to erase her mother’s mistakes
A star drowns the success in bourbon

This city of angels all scarred in sin
Razor sharp fences police these walls

In the park a man looks up on bended knee to make a promise
Looking down she sees a stranger with a past
He holds a ring tainted by his lustful betrayal
Her eyes charcoal grey with distain
A crowd cheers distanced from the truth; heralded by perception

This city of angels raised by guns and violence
Blood washed away with time

In the village, he hides his shame in a dark bar
Lusting for a man he will never find
To be touched
To be penetrated, yet never accepted
One more gin, one more margarita, one more meaningless line behind closed doors

This city of angels laughing with gluttony
Fame is a fortune for the weak

In midtown, the lights shine to the heavens
Billboards and neon sparkle in the night
A party to end all parties
Thousands gather in hidden prejudice
A time bomb seconds from impact

This city of angels holding the promise of opportunity
A burning flame of hope
A realistic pool of despair

In the midnight hour, the moon reflects over the towering urban sculptures in the sky
Florescent lights sprinkle our senses like fresh snowflakes on a cold winter day

In this darkness, we are superheroes masked from our lives

Free to pretend in this city of angels