End of the year poem sounds like this:
“It started with a poem
And where this tale begins
Of rosebeds and sunsets and dinner dates for one
where people are free to be exactly as they are and feel accepted in amongst the masses
Lebanese, Chinese, Italian or Indian.
Of alleyways and graffiti murals
of statements and beratements
Ornate balconies and European families
And lovers that can’t remember your birthday.
Of friendship with strangers and walking on the train tracks. You stop.
Now you walk on new pavement, unfamiliar ground and think about how it will outstetch you and all the days ahead of you you cant control. Some turbulent some peaceful and some happy. So you put one foot in front of the other, keep walking and end it with a poem.”