London Poem: Day 45

1 October

Bridges still crumble in the
Slight pall of quiet days.
Though nothing is spoken
And the collapse bellows noiselessly,
What is, is the demise
Of we’re meant to live.
Space fills,
But, backs turn to ignore the lessening space.
Struggle has always existed,
But, ignorance blanks alienation;
The longing,
The cold, stifling night.
We are all here together,
Though faces never meet,
And we pass on crowded streets
Without recognising conflict.

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In flux

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