The Persistent Journalist

The journalist wandered the streets

Of the twisted city he called home

Searching for a story, a truth

To help him find his way back home

His words were his weapons

Against the corruption and lies

He fought against the powers that be

With nothing but his pen and his eyes

But the city was a cruel mistress

And she did not always give

The journalist struggled to survive

As he tried to make a living

The buildings seemed to loom above him

Like twisted and gnarled trees

Their windows like empty eyes

Watching him as he stumbled to his knees

The people he encountered

Were like ghosts in the mist

Their faces blurred and twisted

As if seen through a fist

But the journalist persisted, he persisted

For he knew the value of his words

They may not always be popular

But they must be heard

So he wrote on, he wrote on

Through the sweat and the pain

For he was a journalist

A messenger of truth, and it's a title he'll maintain.