On a still day
On a still day
Filled with green and blue
The whisper of welcome
In the softness of leaves
Blanketing the grass
The memory of a kiss
The taste of it on my lips
Drifting in time
Lost in the miasma.
The river is never far away
It runs through history
London is wrapped around it
A lovers clinch
A sargasso sea
Of wasted lives
A swamp of living things
Muddied in grief.
Every day is a struggle to be freed
From the stink of it
The sweat ingrained
In every groyne,
Too many bodies washed up
On the shore,
Somewhere, somebody
Will be weeping.
Every old dog
East of Limehouse
Searching for gold
There is dirt under the fingernails
Of every story.
Broken ships,
Their ribs cracked open
The wind
Whistling through twisted planks
Looking for redemption.
Too many poor boys found
It was easy to die
The air is thick
With loss.
Every single soul
Under the sun
Has lain here
Looking up at this sky
Or one just like it.
Waiting for high tide
To feel the cold embrace of the river
Just for the moment
It takes to be lifted.