My City By: Elliot Martin

Illustrated By: Amina Coleman-Davis

The concrete jungle speaks. I hear its voice
“Give me liberty or give me death!”
It echoes. God speaks in this city.
The city will not escape its ghosts.
Stones on an urban street, carved stones.
Carrying memories past, present, future, forward.

A dream, personal goals moving forward.

Rebirth, to find in oneself a new voice
Escaping the past, but embracing the stones.
Longing to avoid a spiritual death,
and to find a future in the past, with all its ghosts
I must immigrate to the beautiful new city. .

I will find myself in this city.
Snapping banner pressing ever forward
Exorcise the demons, exercise the ghosts
One with a people, one with a voice
“Give me liberty or give me death”
Embracing the majesty of imperfect stones.

Don’t stop. For music, rolling like the Stones
For history. Capture the enemy’s Capitol city
Out with the Rebels, even in death
They hold us back. Charging forward,
we must unite as one! But with many voices
admit, and make amends for the ghosts.

In the cemetery, leave the ghosts.
When they had flesh, they carved the stones,
exercising an archaic voice
to let the war haunt the city.
Future bound, a new hope carries forward
Ashen photos of passionate death.

Rebuilt, my city and I progress, avoiding a stagnant death,
Not afraid of history, no longer haunted by the ghosts
Nothing past that cannot move forward.
Our Future, like the past, now being written in stones
I love this home, this place, this historic city
where I will Rise again. And where I will find my voice!

Defend or destroy the precious stones,
The Union and I will storm this new city!
And shout from the rooftops my unleashed voice!

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