The storm yesterday night had cleared the air, enough to smell the change. However, London like a sick addicted quickly reverted to sucking on exhaust pipes, guzzling chemical laden sewage into her heavy vein like streets. Her heart, as always was the worst effected. London puffed away dragging us all down with her, shunning morals or a helping hand. The buses tore through the land like war horses, as did the people. The world up turned and morally bleak, the land barren! Small patches of shrubbery burst through where there was still enough light to survive. The children outside screamed as they were pulled down into a life of addictive self-destruction and misadventure. Desperately trying to keep themselves from dying in a war torn world of sinister malfunction.
The urban pirates recruited them young, ensuring their infant eyes would bare witness to horrific violence, which they could later use as an excuse for their own barbaric condition. A sick monopoly to demonstrate years of frustration. Even the immoral heart of this great city cries for the children lost to blame. For the pirates themselves were blamed once and so the torch must be passed.
The veins of the city burst into a circus of blood spilt and rage. Condemnation and savagery haunt hollowed out hills. Creativity together with a more than adequate passion lies dormant, silenced by the steady marching of soldiers through their thoughts.
London went to war, as did the world. So swiftly ensuring the battle back home.
Parker and I got to thinking about those that get left behind. Those than never chose to fight, but loved some one that did. Those that bare the scars of war, having not even been there. Those that did not volunteer for this perpetuation of hate.
Parker in hand and words in sight,
I blocked out the chaos,
And began to write.
The Devil and the dancer.
Part 1
Your pounding feet,
To a false and even beat.
Contrasting that of my passionate soul.
No soldier here,
I march without control.
The faster I run,
My love does too.
The faster my mind forgets about you.
You took from me,
All my lush greenery,
Stole what you could,
To leave barren land.
But green grows freely…
…as you march on the sand!
You aimed to leave a desert,
And stop me being free.
You rob the earth,
As you robbed me.
You glorified killings,
Blood thirsty and highly strung.
I create and nourish life.
As you embrace your gun!
Remember forever my soldier,
What could have been.
Life instead of blood,
And all the blanks filled in.
Green filled the scene as we made plans,
I prised guns of destruction from your angry hands!
And I’m no soldier,
But still I disarmed.
As you walked… I ran!
As you fought…I just am!
Part 2
Pity and promises,
Blisters and lust,
Animals hunt, as you feel you must.
Sand filled shoes and blood shot eyes.
The demise of a hero, as you kill for lies!
Does this action define who you are?
Gunpowder glory on a fallen star!
Nourished with food,
Laid on by the Devil,
Drink bloodied water,
Not for love…
…but a meddle!
Sick and weary,
You march to the drum.
Personify bravery and blast away scum!
Killing the children that never got to be.
When bullet hits mother,
Just who is it you see?
Pounding and aching,
Screams of pain.
Your poisoned heart and face of shame.
Lands weep tears of blood,
As sands try to cover them up.
As you took…I gave.
As I am King…you are slave.
Part 3
Often angels fall,
Some are born in hell.
Where life once bloomed;
A carcass, where u fell.
Did you ever stop to question why?
Reason free from passion
Death in place of you and I.
Dead without the tree,
That gave shelter from the sun.
You take life before its birth.
And then smile, as though you’ve won!
March on the land,
That gave you life.
Gave you your freedom,
And gave you your wife.
Insult and injury,
And death in turn.
Honour and respect…
… is something you earn!
Part 4
I see you,
I see dew drops,
You see nothing as you take your shot.
Can you face the heartache,
When the bloodbath stops?
As the green nurtures me
I nurture too.
The best or the worst of life,
Its me or you.
For every drop of blood,
I’ll heel a seed in the dust.
In amazement we’ll stand,
As rose buds form within the harshest of lands.
The world meanders on,
Your gun in time will rust,
You rushed to kill,
Its that I cannot trust.
You take life so freely,
How different is mine?
Your killing us both,
Whilst your lost in time.
You shot yourself in the foot,
As you lost your soul somewhere,
The darkest days of dishonour.
Even your evil ran for cover…
… and left you there.
Remember when it rains,
It’s for you those tears are for.
You took everything,
Yet still bury for more.
Wash away your lust for hate,
And question what it is your dead for.
Drown in the sand, where I once held your hand,
Smell the roses where there once were plans.
Part 5
The chaos of tragedy,
Can you feel or heel at all?
Salty tears on blistered fingers,
Oh how the mighty fall.
Blasted cradles into sand dunes,
The truth you laid to rest.
Walk away with your head held high,
And claim you did your best.
This war that your fighting,
Is it not your own?
When you return home; still fighting,
In your head alone.
Days on end with just the sand,
Hidden in shoes and pockets,
As it flees the land!
The land claimed with the blood of others.
Crystal tears and the hearts of lovers.
You went to find yourself,
And didn’t like what you saw
So you left him in hell.
To remind you…
… what is you fought for!
Part 6
Your tracking and back-tracking
Made paths in the sand
Pathways to Hell in a broken land.
A rusty gun in a sinners hand.
As others left in death,
You yielded a crop of regret.
In seeing a self you cannot forget.
For it’s in that desert, you’ll live forever.
Where once there was greenery,
And we were together.
What a dishonour, in your right to fight,
Broken bones built broken homes.
Embedded in your head, though out of sight.
Where there once were moments,
Just memories and scars.
Dead and forgotten,
The life that should’ve been ours.
I flood the desert with a heartache,
That you’ll never know.
I wish for the you,
I used to know.
And I’m no soldier,
But still I disarm,
Within this war…
…‘twas your love that did the most harm!
By Spirit de la Mare aka Li’l Literati. London 2009.
From the collection ‘Loved up & Let Down’.
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2009.
Above: Image of London taken by Spirit de la Mare aka Li'l Literati. London 2010.
