Crimson buildings  packed like sardines

Windows peering into each other.

Narrow alleys of rock and dirt  

Wind about underfoot.

And in the center, dominating the sky,

Gold glistens up above.

At the top of a mountain 

The air should be clear.

Clean, fresh, alive, crisp.

Instead, the tight vicinity of memories

Makes my breaths choke me,

polluted, corrupted, foul, toxic.

I am reminded of my place

By my bare feet on the ground,

Disgrace, failure, outcast.

That golden tower shines as a beacon,

But no longer for me,

guiding, blinding, gone .

I can slip through the city’s mazes,

A hesitant home of mine,

Small, unseen, insignificant, cog.

But my familiarity remains in

Marble halls and engraved staircases,

Purposeful, desired, respected.

Even if I was given the chance

To return to where my heart remains,

Belonging, regret, mistakes.

I could never go back to

The person I used to be,

Irreversible, damaged, resigned.