London Poem: Day 193

26 February

The halls seem to run on endlessly,
Disappearing further into the blind
Spaces lazy eyes forget ever exist.
In what is seen, thin threads,
Woven finely, intricately rolled over
One another, is not the hands that shaped this;
Not the shoulders it sat upon;
Nor does anyone see the eyes reflecting
Back of those who have seen it before.
No one is ever alone.
The walls have seen a world we will
Never know, and sounds caught only once before.
Bear witness to life as it comes, and
Think of all the eyes that will passover
In the years to come.

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