The tide of rush hour traffic ensures silence is forever at bay. The noise comes to be in time with your heart beat. Or is it your heart that keeps in time with the city? The fury and the rush of the soldiers outside, pounding to the beat of the streets, and so the beat of my drum. Heart in tune and brain in gear. Parker and I ventured into the swamps of sorry drunks that use the park benches as their beds. Every day I pass the same group of fallen soldiers, repeating their actions day after day. For them the fact that another day has past seems irrelevant for next will be exactly the same. They never question why, or seem to wonder how it happened. They just do what they are told by this great city. The ghosts of who they once were now devoured by the war. The war that they just were not strong enough to win! The brightest flowers of all grow beside the benches they call home. It is as though Mother Nature herself places them there to commemorate the men they once were! Parker and I find it hard to watch. The poor souls devoured by their demons.
There were 33 in the air that day,
7 more in the park.
There were 21 on the bus today,
And 20 more in the dark.
I met him twice before,
On a strip of gravel lit ground,
I knew others from the past,
And some from lost and found.
I’d seen most of the worst,
At the worst possible times.
I knew the best of the worst
And the worst of the best crimes.
I heard them chatter often.
Boils burned in midday hate,
They ridiculed love for names sake,
For there comrades they sit and wait.
For never do they come alone
But as a troop or army would.
Burn the mind’s land like fire.
Like only the demons could.
By Spirit de la Mare aka Li’l Literati. London 2010
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2010
(Please note the numbers are for use later!)
Above: A photograph by Spirit de la Mare aka Li'L Literati. London 2009
From a series: 'War in Allegro'.
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.
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