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In the bustling, crowded city that never sleeps
Inside each yellow taxicab transporting passengers
To different places and different faces through rain or shine
A continuous stream of cars, going here, getting there
Along with the recurrent noises of their honking horns

Throughout the day, the same routine is repeated
Passersby around every corner rushing to their destinations
Every one of them lost in their own separate world
Of fast food chains, skyscrapers, and telecommunications
There never seems to be just a minute to spare

Commuters board the bus at the designated bus stop
While some travel underground on the subway
And others commute by automobile to return home
All impatiently enduring the slow traffic jams of rush hour
Exhausted from their jobs in this iridescent, busy city

The streets are like the veins, the blood flow of the city
Congested with the constant overflow of cars
Along with soaring skyscrapers that seemingly touch the clouds
And the city's heart is the people who come there
The modern life of the bustling city that never sleeps
A poem I wrote recently for a Language Arts school project. Our poems were required to contain lots and lots of prepositions. My poem is about a busy city in general, although people call New York City the "city that never sleeps". This poem isn't necessarily about NYC. So here you go.

A City That Never Sleeps (c) me, ~Guitar-Heroine
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January 11, 2010
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