London Poem: Day 188

21 February

The wheels move everything into oblivion,
With the rest eating itself clean.
But, what is clean?
The bare, empty place that it all
Comes to an end,
An end, the wild that keeps moving,
But the scene never changes.
The heart though, the heart clears
The bland and breaks the pain
Of endlessly unchanging days.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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