London Poem: Day 267

11 May

Allow the cries to sing out,
The lonely thudding of the
Universe, all falling to pieces,
All falling to the ground.
Accepting the inevitable,
The wild, and the space in between,
There is so little hope to
Prevent concern from waking.
It is a careless step, coming
Alive to wander freely now that
All of the pieces lay
Flat and floundering on a
Dying soil. What can grow
Amidst the destitute?
Here, amongst the last of
The flowers, stand you and I,
Waiting for spring.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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