The Final London Poem

18 August

One last poem for posterity,
One more for good show;
A few words to look back
On with clarity,
Before it’s time to go.
It’s been a year to cherish,
And a year to love;
It brings tears to my eyes,
So it will be here I will
Pass on my final goodbyes.

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London Poem: Day 365

17 August

One year,
Cause for celebration
And the close of
This exercise.
One year to learn
To live alone,
And one year
Lived in love.
There will be more,
But the first,
Fresh and cherubian,
Is the one to set the bar –
It now lives with me, and
Through the grief and
Joy synonymous with life,
I will never hand it over.

London Poem: Day 364

16 August

It’s getting closer,
Winding down
Like spiral stairs,
Leading to the
Other heaven.
Just kiss me, and
We’ll go.
Where doesn’t matter
Because the finality
Of the year is just
Inches away,
We will step in another,
Same as did the last,
And count them as
They stack up,
End on top of end.

London Poem: Day 363

15 August

Home is nearly a year removed,
Far split from comfort as
Ugliness and wide spread arms
Look for something in the
Great, vacant world.
This is home now, still,
After time and life I know
I’m separated from both.
A stranger in a strange land,
And funnily enough, in a
Familiar one.
This is the land I know, and
By fate or misfortune
This is where I will stay.

London Poem: Day 361

13 August

You are buried beneath the street,
Under soil and ice,
Cradled between fire.
You are hours gone, and
What is missing is merely a
Vague shadow of how I feel now,
During the small hours,
Juggling the meaning of the good
Going out and the bad digging in.
This is the imbalanced world.
I wanted you to be the one
To set it right.

London Poem: Day 360

12 August

Such a small amount of time,
Dripping from tiny little clocks
That forgot they had such power.
The here and in between seems far
When it is clear that soon,
Neither one will possess you.
You are in thin light,
Dying quietly, and with the day,
The night too will have its turn,
And all that will be left to say is:
I never had enough time,
To say I love you.

London Poem: Day 359

11 August

How well do hands recognize
The body?
A simple wander back and
Forth, a fumble here and there
Never did any harm,
But still,
In subtle ticks,
There is nothing to align
The wheels –
The world may have its axis,
But these hands have no
Base to set their world
At peace.