On the track the wheels that turn, propel the train, its the public transit he takes to work. Half awake there he sits, “ker-clank”, “ker-clank” its the sounds of repetition that started his daze, his eyes will close, his head will drop, yes he is asleep, with a flutter, the train it shuttered jolting him awake. Dame it he has missed his stop, surely now he will be late. Ahggggg! “I couldn’t care less” he muttered to himself, for his job so medoker he takes no pride, his modest wage so modest its nearly enough to get by, to the lower end of the middle class he belongs. All and all he is content, for its not material things that he desires, he finds happiness in others when they smile, for yes this man is a jokester, who makes them laugh until they cry, to him nothing matters but his family and friends.

They swill there glass, as they indulge a taste, its nothing but the finest aged wine that they will drink. There they stand tall and firm, there suits have all been freshly pressed, as there converse with impeccable speech, each word carefully selected though methodical thought, for the topics being discussed are of the up most importance, the hands of there watch struck twelve o’clock its a business lunch.

The up and comers, its the young adults, jittering in there desk, eagerly awaiting the beginning of class, for its here they know they will plant the seeds, anticipating “its like weeds we will grow” brick by brick, its here they will lay the foundations to there futures. In she walks its the Teacher, through her eyes what she sees, is a younger generation of over achievers, a vow she took with her help they will succeed.

In the park, a boy sinks his fingers through the bark of a accent old tree, pulling himself upward limb by branch, branch by limb, growing ever more fatigued, a uncontrollable smirk coming across his face, unwilling to give in for he knows his labor will pay off, for he will be victorious in deceiving his pears in this game of hide and seek.

A young woman sings a song, she strikes the cords of her guitar aiding her words that echo though Warsaw’s cobble stone streets, no its not for money, nor is it for fame, she sings of passion, for not to long ago, Warsaw was not a place of humorous man, or talks of business, no kids would learn, nor children would play, for all the inhabitants of the city lived only in fair of the atrocities the fuhrer and his man would comment, Let Us Not, Let Us Not Forget, there was a uprising, a uprising of man who wanted to be free!