Capital
Cold grey spires of concrete and stone, a hive of activity yet all are alone
Hustling and bustling yet silent and cold, a mess of steel towers mixed in with the old.
Sprawling and creeping from the murk of the Thames, the city that beckons you also condemns.
The city breaks on you like waves on a beach, till it cracks your defences and opens a breach.
Slowly becoming a part of the crowd, free thought not encouraged, free speech not allowed.
No longer the person that came to this place with ambition and dreams and a smile on your face.
Enveloped, absorbed like a drop in the sea, I am now the city, the city is me.
Cold and uncaring, ambitious and cruel, feeding on carrion, a suited grey ghoul.
Drained of my laughter and raped of my smile, filled up with hatred, derision and bile.
Through throngs of grey people in packed lavish squares, nobody see’s me and nobody cares.
Shrewd and unceasing, divisive and vile, the citizens congregate round the square mile.
With barely a thought for the deeds that they’ve done, showing contempt to all and mercy to none.
Like the bullets that stream from the mouth of a gun, London relentlessly marches right on.
Copyright © David Horne | Year Posted 2016
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