The London Eye.
The London Eye is gleaming, seeming, redeeming,
Incessant in external watching, blotching,
Out the weaning, cold, pale sunlight
Against the murky backdrop of the Thames.
The river is a winding, wilful, wreckage,
Which murders faded hopes, drowns and gropes,
men in shiny suits, and men in lengthy cloaks.
They are too busy to recognise who or what they are.
But we can see them from the London Eye,
These ants sweating in the city farm, which swarm
Around the flame of the royal mint, addicted, without conscience
To the allure of the murky Thames, oblivious to the approaching storm.
Then, the heavens open, unleashing fiery justice
In a hail of flaming water, which dissolves the shiny suits,
And polished boots, which adjusts to worn and tired leather,
Beyond repair as the air fills with dust, the men laid bare.
The London Eye sees far, the Londoner's eye a mere reflection,
Working, turning, jerking and churning, the cog of the naked truth.
Until, that is, the next flaming and fiery storm,
Which may not be so forgiving, if not seen from the London Eye.
David Mullin.
The London Eye is gleaming, seeming, redeeming,
Incessant in external watching, blotching,
Out the weaning, cold, pale sunlight
Against the murky backdrop of the Thames.
The river is a winding, wilful, wreckage,
Which murders faded hopes, drowns and gropes,
men in shiny suits, and men in lengthy cloaks.
They are too busy to recognise who or what they are.
But we can see them from the London Eye,
These ants sweating in the city farm, which swarm
Around the flame of the royal mint, addicted, without conscience
To the allure of the murky Thames, oblivious to the approaching storm.
Then, the heavens open, unleashing fiery justice
In a hail of flaming water, which dissolves the shiny suits,
And polished boots, which adjusts to worn and tired leather,
Beyond repair as the air fills with dust, the men laid bare.
The London Eye sees far, the Londoner's eye a mere reflection,
Working, turning, jerking and churning, the cog of the naked truth.
Until, that is, the next flaming and fiery storm,
Which may not be so forgiving, if not seen from the London Eye.
David Mullin.