Three Poems From Chicago 11.19.2023

Grant Park

A lakeside breeze, that is reminiscent of summer, sweeps across the street.

The warm winter day is a good impostor.

The guise of days gone-by brings a warmth in my soul.

Chicago, you lie so well, or maybe I am the naive one that wants to believe.

Buckingham Fountain

If I could be the King of Prose,

I would lord over all with my poems.

Far and wide would be the swath of my domain.

Wielding a pen, this world I would claim.

I would write for justice and rule with benevolence,

The scraps of notes would count as the evidence.

If only I were the King of Prose.

Only then would this world know.

Congress Hotel

A new dawn spawns life.

Light, darkness, and with every dawn comes dusk.

Renewal, life from the ashes.

The phoenix rises, just to fall again by vices.

Life sure has it’s own devices.

For now, I just hope. Hope suffices.