The hospital ward window
Stares out across London,
And so do I.
It's a concrete abomination by day,
And yet
The plethora of little lights
Have a firm but tender
Hold of my heart come night.
I hadn't dreamed
There would be such colours -
From stark white light
To honeyed gold,
A viridescent green atop some building
In the distance,
Neighboured by a deep red.
It seems such a sight to behold,
And it remains beautiful until I recall
That these artificial lights
Are the very reason
Why I cannot see the stars tonight;
The sickly backlight of the city
Pretends to be a wonder,
And I ponder
Whether this poem is just about the skyline -
I have read between my own lines,
Lost in the glow of my own screen...
I can recognise the beauty,
The wonder, of what lies before me,
But I cannot love the London skyline,
Not when the stars
That showed me the way so selflessly
Are drowning beneath the smog.
The beauty that the window and I
Gaze upon
Costs more than just the view.
The Earth and I,
My stars and me...
I have anchored my heart tonight,
Lest it be burned
By the fluorescent chemicals
Bubbling inside London's neon lights.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
