Twenty-five or more million people in the city tonight This city is an inevitable element of the poetry I write. There is hardly an escape from this carnival ride that I am on Oh, I’m stuck up on this trip; words delude me till their gone Emotions are fickle, unsure if friend or foe Can I even trust them? I do not even know! A conundrum to say, with meanings I yet do not know But, as I begin to write them down, It’s as if I already know, My woes are far from over; my anguish will never go. We, the poets of this city each breathe fire of our own Waiting to tell you some of our hidden secrets, our stories yet unknown For within the flames that we may ignite We try to awaken within you a ray or two of light Like a string full of dispositions, soothing the mind and soul What is poetry, if nothing but words to make us feel whole? The journey from a diary, to a book and now the mike Can you see the similar...