Necropolis (London)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this on my return to London (after I was "exiled" to Wales for a year). It's a poem on how differently I saw home after a year away.

Submitted: February 08, 2013

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Submitted: February 08, 2013



The black shroud falls

On this wasteland of a city.

The dark whisper of the wind reverberates

From Hades' black garden to the top of the sticks.


Flat faces press against cold transparences,

The smell of curiosity is asphyxiating.

There is nothing here,

Not even a pebble or a stone

That remembers conscious breath.


And flightless wings have given up.


Two black souls linger for a minute

Or so on the corner

Then vanish like love.


They left no trace of presence.


The only sound is that of silence

And on this black stretch

The whites and blacks play 


Their haunting notes.

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