by | Nov 26, 2009 | Poetry | 0 comments

I wish it were
Not real, a nightmare
Not a dream
But surreal.
I step off the bus
Into a TV newsreel scene,
Excuse me please I say,
As I try and walk
To catch my train.
I can’t look at the flowers
Placed with love and shock,
Disbelief and a dawning
Of the awful truth;
It could have been me,
It could have been me.

I breathe the air
So traffic polluted
But bright and free,
Knowing that beneath me,
Fetid, fume filled darkness
Chokes the breath of life.

Unsung heroes gather
Bombed pieces of life,
Painting the dreadful picture
We don’t want to see.
The media circus
Stationed on traffic islands,
Cameras poised
They’ll never capture pictures
Of the souls that died.

London lives on;
Your contempt of life,
Their love of life;
Your cause has lost and
Its hateful terror buried,
Their love surfaces, and remains
In the ordinary hearts of everyone.


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