0958 037
0958 037

Before, in the putative asylum of her bedroom
whether alone or in the company of others
the one of curious Grecian genesis would always
keep alight the loose hanging shade less bulb
As a vocal self-proclaimed freethinker
those who understood these things
thought this her greatest contradiction

The ignorance of brawn afforded him
an ability to see past the light and
into the darkest places as no other could
nothing deterred this one to whom the
theft of a heart came as an incidental habit
He stole hers with consummate ease
together they were almost accomplished

Had he come after her instead of vice-versa
their lives may have been different such was
the way of things for the ones the jungle
condemned back in the day when the spire less
Cardboard City made welcome a lost generation
beneath a contaminated Waterloo Bridge
existing for only those who could see the
ignominy of humanity as an ice cold barrel
resting twixt fearful submissive forgotten eyes



    1. Thank you…you know back then when cardboard city was real I chatted to a number of residents from time to time…quite, perhaps most often they were lost young souls from Scotland who had ended up in London thinking the streets would be paved in gold…now there really was musical and poetical real talent gone to waste in drink and other things. Such a terrible shame…heartbreaking both then and now.

  1. I know Mike and it’s really sad. Some of these young people haven’t had the best start in life. They’ve often nothing to stay here for. Your poem was lovely. Very moving. I was just amazed that you were hudding planks one minute and penning this the next.

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