London Calling

This poem is a commentary on the harshness of London life.

All this grey beneath the feet,

Surrounding us on smokey streets.

A town where even the clowns wear a frown.

An amazing feat of industry, but at what cost?

When nature is lost.

Packed in a bubble,

Living in hovels,

Pretending to be robust.

Though flickers of greatness are often,

They soften the resolve to leave.

Sporting, cavorting and quenching the needs.

Be it sweet morsels or grand parcels,

For the rich and the rascals,

What can't this city provide?

Except space, 

A place to meditate,

A way to make hay,

Or somewhere to hide.

Still, there's plenty of screens,

And magazines,

Places to be seen.

Albeit not without a crutch.

One that stumbles too much.

One that ebbs and flows, peaks and troughs.

Where early mornings bring yawning and bloodshot eyes.

When you can no longer abide by yesterdays lies.

Cover a disgraced face in a duvet of hate.

Shut out the light,

Berate your actions.

Analyse last night,

Calculate the fractions.

Then come to conclusions free from delusions.

Realise something needs to change.

Life may seem fixed, 

But it can be rearranged.

Just look at the creatures evolving,

Problem solving,

Adapting to forces.

How resourceful!

Without remorse, they reform.

And people too can break from the norm.

Say no to rat races,

Unmask your faces,

Prepare for a transformation.

How dare they expect a nation of sheep?

We're not weak and can break away from the crowd.

We can make our voices loud,

We can be heard,

Our thoughts can be digested.

We just must be invested in the cause,

Not just diversionary scandals.

We must change the laws

Set by these vandals.

Author's Note

Any constructive criticism is welcome.