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Sadness and History whisper in soft, translucent gray

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Sad history whispers in soft, translucent gray
an always low glow above Kentish Town rooftops
in shimmer-shining rain, or dappled bursts of sun.
Hope cries for a future, like its past or present to be
Gently recorded as the march of time and progress, 
and religiously embraced. Positive, we are. Always.
Deranged. And Sensible.

The cab journey from the fantastic to the mundane
circles lost at Seven Dials before cascading down. 
past the supple silver sheen of a curved covent corner,
To the timeless wind beyond the church of our fathers, 
into the swirling ghost of Trafalgar Square, and back again. 
We have learned our lessons. Little or much. 
Deranged. And sensible. 

The Sedan Chair hovers above the sucking gutter slime. 
The barrow kneads it into still  toppling furrows  
winding through the generations, unrelenting, glistening.  
Not an echo here, now and never, of rain once falling,
of sounds, barks and screams under lonely trees 
in silent witness to the restless blood of London, 
Deranged. And Sensible. 

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Written by coolrebel

January 2, 2013 at 10:06 am

Posted in History, poem, sadness

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