Velvet

A poem written in response to the dilapidation I found in the city around me and my head.

Westminster is lost to me,
I find no home in town, or city,
Too easily reminded of all those faults
I've structured as highrises
And time spent, unrequited,
Coated in anthrax
and asbestos ceiling tiles

In that ambiguous sunrise
Averting it's eyes by fog and cloud,
I catch no glimpse beyond that of drunks
stumbling from park to gutter
Tongue yellowed by smoke and strung out
By wage packets that do not equate to being whole

I find no comfort, in early morning exodus
Down-trodden by that ladder they claim to have created
As the machine grows and evolves, mutates more so
Than any man ever foretold
Trafficked in suit, represent the company
Modes for responsibility

And those birds, in modest tints of brown
and black, had before sung sweetly
But those notes were swallowed
Muted in sections of greenery
force-fed by that human quality of being
Innately guilty.

And now, that sweetness, older than we,
Still murmurs in cold, behind this society
Found in subtle pitches of vines, slow, quiet
And unnoticed, hoping in time to revert
and smile again in more confident Suns.
Her revolution is velvet.

Reviews

[Tania]

very nice! lovely poem:) :)

[Francis-Gray]

Thank you very much!