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The Magic of the City Night

A poem inspired by the nightlife in New York City

By Rasma RaistersPublished 9 days ago 2 min read

The pace of the day was slowing

and according to the lowering sun,

the night would soon come riding in -

the pulse of the city at night would begin.

So it was with every night,

in large cities like New York,

Manhattan’s business districts emptied,

but the residential streets filled with people.

They all came out,

as the blinking neon lights called,

like a river of people -

they flowed this way and that.

Shoulder to shoulder,

forward we’d march,

each to their own,

nighttime destination.

There seemed to be a mist in the air,

as the colorful neon surrounded me,

colors everywhere in rainbow hues,

as I ducked into a basement bar.

Here in the dark interior,

to forget about life for a while,

the drinks were flowing like from fountains

and people were laughing and dancing.

This atmosphere made me forget

and dear friends called round after round,

soon I was dancing with laughing faces

and everyone seemed to be a friend.

Far into the night,

the music would pulsate,

heart beating along with the drums -

let’s drink to the night and to life and to love.

Soon it seemed as if it was another world,

here in this artificial magical cave,

where people came and went

and it seemed the party would never end.

I wondered in how many cities,

this scene was familiar,

most likely in Rome, Paris or London

and time seemed to retreat.

Soon it was the moment,

to return to reality,

stepping out into the street -

the night was drifting away.

I wondered where I was,

was it Rome, Paris, or London

and then the first rays of the sun -

created a city of gold.

Thousands of windows,

that had looked like empty eyes,

in the dawning light,

now shown with golden light.

They sparkled so brightly,

that my eyes began to tear,

then I knew this could only be,

the early morn in Manhattan.

I smiled that I had forgotten for a moment

and as the magical sun rays,

rose up higher finding their way,

to peep through the spaces between the skyscrapers.

I made my way through the early Manhattan dawn,

where it seemed I was in Eldorado

and had found my gold,

walking in the still-empty morning streets,

nighttime rhythms still on my mind –

tripping the light fantastic on the streets of New York.


About the Creator

Rasma Raisters

My passions are writing and creating poetry. I write for several sites online and have four themed blogs on Wordpress. Please follow me on Twitter.

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