London

As I walk through each chartered street,
near where the old thames does flow.
Looking out to the soul of the city
to hear the screams, calling London.

We throw our hands up to the sky
as if the clouds can answer why
and we are angered,
to hear no reply.

The heart beat of the city as it sleeps
drums out the glory of metropolis
with high rise shoeboxes
touching the heavens
yet no angels haunt the rooves.

The halos of the streetlights
against the milky air
shimmer in gritty winds,
in a shower of discarded starbucks.

The sights, the sounds, the smells
haunting all the streets.
And the blank, hollow faces
of the people as they weep
for what once, never was.....

Ricky Glew