December Morning

Through the fogged window

Of the gray December morning

I was looking for a better place to play.


How is it, no matter how hard I try

I can’t seem to find a brighter day?

New York with it’s vast  buildings

Is an endless canvas

Awaiting my eager paint to color the sky.


My gray city, the beacon

Of everything that has become gritty,

Comforts me this December morning.


The people walking in the street below

Give me food for thought

As they travel to and fro.


Hurriedly pushing their way past the masses

I laugh to myself quietly,

As they narrowly avoid the crashes.


This city of hopes,

This empire of dreams,

This gray winter morning

Is not as bad as it seems.