Through the void and emptiness,
Measures and specifics,
Overwhelmed, Finding too many conflicts.
How to let go?
Perhaps, go with the flow.
A challenge so blur,
That I certainly must concur.
Observing Parisian landmarks,
That have been placed by all of its monarchs.
A city so pure,
Once incredibly obscure.
Jardin des Tuileries,
Portraying superiority,
Had reminded me of home,
With its hidden history in a tome.
Where was the city’s bruise?
Who was there to accuse?
A city one so gray,
That has only been moving headway.
While a place of my own,
By wars had been blown.
Its wounds clearly present,
Dark days we have spent.
While the city of love,
Through the simple use of a shove,
Had hidden its dark history,
To me, this still seems like a mystery.