London Poem: Day 236

10 April

Last night,
The world falling, fleeting,
They said: No thanks! No good.
The busy pen, crafting large
Swooping symbols, stopping short,
Leaves meaning behind,
Saying, This is not what we’re looking for.
If I could answer back,
How much good would it do
To tell them, Me neither, but
It’s the best that I’ve got
Yet, still I wander along,
Words coming, as they do, like events
And action in our lives –
There is no control in these matters.
Because, rarely can I see that
It is happening at all.

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In flux

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