London Poem: Day 37

23 September

It is lines and formations
At stand still that initiate progress.
A strange contradiction.
Faces blur into one
continuous mold of the same life,
And the same people.
But, new terrain promises new beginnings,
Though the mind will one day
View all of this as natural.
It must find new means to incite motion.
The world will surely continue twirling,
But the mind will latch and cease to see such movement.
In good times there will be worry,
But for now,
New images will entrust freshness

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In flux

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