Looking down at the city, I hear it crying.
Crying for someone to save it.
Rain pours through the streets, covering every inch of building, socking it to the bone.
Watching the people like scurrying ants, trying to find their way.
No idea about their city and the prove it has to pay.
They aren’t looking like I am, they do not see what I see.
Being trodden on, and driven on, and rained on.
People dropping cigarettes and rubbish all throughout the streets.
Making the city untidy and unclean,
Making their city weep.
So they aren’t looking, but I am.
And something needs to be done.
Before we destroy our city for good.
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Comments about this poem (Looking by Rachel Brewer )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 February 1970-)
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