The city drowned himself in sickening cacophony.
The prelude pessimistic.
Above the sea of fog,
Where the rich lived in sleepy secrets,
The wanderer took a sip of tranquillity.
And felt guilty about the distorted beauty.
———–
The author described you as distant yet romantic.
Free of the fraud of money and happiness.
You marked your territory with a clear, loud voice.
It reached me despite all the bobbing memories.
Out of nowhere the bridge of colors shot through the air.
Swiftly disappeared after I’d been saved once again from self-destruction.
———–
River on Baltic Sea 
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