London Poem: Day 244

18 April

The day seemed languid and slow,
Turning hours over in easy rotations
That count seconds without ever
Knowing the word.
But, what are days and
What are words to a world
Forgotten in ash?
We are still dust, and still
Quiet – slow moving shapes
Watching it all go by.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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