The City of Forgotten Stars

 

The City of Forgotten Stars

Beneath the veil of a restless sky,
A city stands where the echoes lie.
Its streets are carved in dust and flame,
Each corner whispering someone’s name.

The lamps are weary, the towers tall,
The bricks remember the rise, the fall.
Yet still the city hums a tune,
Half in shadow, half in moon.

The river coils through veins of stone,
Carrying voices, soft and lone.
Boats drift slowly, lost in dreams,
Guided by lanterns, silver beams.

At dawn, the market begins to sing,
Merchants gather, their banners cling.
Spices scatter like sparks of gold,
Tales are bartered, secrets sold.

A poet sits with paper bare,
Ink like thunder, thoughts laid bare.
He writes of stars that fade from sight,
Of lovers meeting in borrowed light.

A child runs laughing, wild and free,
Chasing shadows no one can see.
Her joy, a fire that breaks the gray,
Her voice, a hymn to a brighter day.

A beggar kneels by a broken door,
He counts his blessings, though they are poor.
He lifts his eyes, and in the air,
He sees a mercy hidden there.

A singer hums at the edge of night,
Her voice a lantern, her song a flight.
It weaves through alleys, bold and near,
Turning despair into something clear.

Above, the towers scrape the sky,
Windows flicker, lives pass by.
Some filled with laughter, some with pain,
All stitched together in memory’s chain.

The city knows what no one tells:
The ring of church, the clang of bells,
The sigh of lovers who part at dawn,
The grief of hearts when hope is gone.

And yet, it carries all within,
A patchwork quilt of loss and sin.
But woven too with threads of grace,
A hidden warmth in the coldest place.

The night descends, the stars appear,
But dimly lit, as if in fear.
For smoke and sorrow veil their glow,
Yet still they shine, though faint and slow.

A traveler comes from lands afar,
Guided only by one pale star.
He walks the streets, both wide and small,
Listening close to the city’s call.

He hears the poet’s whispered prayer,
The beggar’s song, the vendor’s care.
The child’s bright laughter, pure and wild,
The singer’s hymn, so soft, beguiled.

He feels the city beneath his feet,
A pulse, a rhythm, a steady beat.
As if the stones themselves can say:
“Hope survives, though it slips away.”

He climbs the tower, high and steep,
Where silence gathers, where shadows sleep.
And there he sees the stars above,
Each one a lantern of buried love.

Not gone, not lost, but faint with time,
Still humming softly in their rhyme.
Each star a soul, each light a flame,
Each whisper bound to a hidden name.

The traveler bows, his heart released,
His burdens lifted, his sorrows ceased.
For in that city, dark yet true,
He found the stars that others knew.

He found that pain and joy align,
That broken lives can still define,
A beauty born from scars and rain,
A music carried through all pain.

When dawn returns with golden breath,
The city wakes, defying death.
Its streets still hum, its towers rise,
Its stars still burn in the morning skies.

And those who walk its endless ways,
Will feel its song in fleeting days.
For though forgotten, lost, or far,
No soul can silence a living star.