Still

 

Still

Your cold fists scrunch tufts of hair into birds nests

But now It’s time to go

Just put on your shoes

One at a time

 

Bite the skin on your lips

Give your fingers time to breath

Now put on that bag of artefacts

I feels heavier than before

 

Glance down and down

Further than that

Until the core of the earth can see you

Until it stares back

 

Can you hear it yet?

The groaning and the wheezing

The rumble and the racket

Your steed is here

 

Two steps too close

See the blur and the squabble

Cross your fingers in your pocket

And hope to breathe

 

Stand tall, don’t topple

Look past it, that’s far enough

Hand on heart, feel it beat

Remember that it’s there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sundown on the Southbank

While the light trips fantastic over the Thames, the Southbank simmers. New architecture faces old as two worlds rest beside the placid tide. There are bookshops under bridges, carousels and mimes, the ebb and flow and the low rumble of trains; here is a world of this and that. London’s cacophony of sound and sense winds down for just a moment, and awaits the bustle of night.

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