Visitor in My Home City

I walk around my home city and watch.

Through tourist-tinted eyes

I marvel in the sense that I am home.

Yet, the clouds capture the sun's rays,

In magnificent pearlescent colours

They cover the streets in darkness

Stopping the likes of even Glinda

To come and help the poorest of souls.

I watch them as I walk past, silently

Deprived of the simplest of help.

I walk more and regain the tint.

The one that makes the city pretty.

The one that makes the city come alive.

The one that ignores the pain,

The suffering of where I truly come from.