The Fallen City

In the heart of a once proud city,

Where towers reached for the sky,

Now lies a scene of desolation,

Where hope and despair vie.

The streets once filled with laughter,

Now echo with solemn prayer,

As shadows cast their somber cloak,

O'er a city in disrepair.

Oh, fallen city of New York,

Once a beacon shining bright,

Now shrouded in sorrow's embrace,

In the depths of darkest night.

The skyline, once kissed by sunlight,

Now marred by scars of woe,

Yet amidst the ruins and rubble,

A flicker of faith does grow.

But beneath the surface of grief,

A tempest of vengeance brews,

For the otherworld's cruel invasion,

Has lit a fire that never eschews.

The hearts of the city's survivors,

Pulse with righteous indignation,

Their eyes alight with steely resolve,

To seek retribution's proclamation.

For every life that was lost,

For every dream laid to waste,

They vow to avenge the fallen,

With a fervor that cannot be effaced.

In the silence of the shattered streets,

Their cries for justice resound,

As they rise from the ashes of despair,

Their purpose, resolute and profound.

Oh, fallen city of New York,

Bathed in sorrow's mournful hue,

Let us lift our voices in prayer,

For strength to see us through.

Let us bow our heads in reverence,

For the lives that were lost in vain,

And let us find solace in the knowledge,

That love shall rise again.

For in the ashes of destruction,

There blooms a flower of hope,

A promise of resurrection,

A chance for a brighter scope.

So let us hold fast to our faith,

And let us stand tall and strong,

For in the heart of this fallen city,

We shall rise again, ere long.

-a poem by David and Emily Sinclair