Thursday, 10 November 2011


Traffic crawling
at the speed of
an aging malt

the odour of
exhaust fumes and hops
mingle in the frosty air.

down Palmerston Place
the early morning sun
casts elongated shadows.

Scaffolding raised high
against St Marys cathedral
restoring stonework
high above the shadows

the closest these men
will get to heaven.

Strengthening the walls
but the foundation is crumbling
no mason can save her fall.

Walking onward
I observe the daily commute.
I am no part of it
an outsider
viewing their world
as God views mine.

They move in haste
the business suit,student,shop-worker

and another outsider

a homeless beggar
with a paper cup
held out like a prayer to God
upturned palms,downcast eyes
hopefull and yet hopeless
genuine or fraud

it matters not
the crowd have seen it before
every day
untill invisibility wrapped itself
around the down-trodden
hiding him from view.

Onward they go
boarding the bus
minds full of important things like
which tune to play on the ipod
what to have for lunch.

Each day repeats the one before.
Only the weekend offers escape

except for the beggar.
He's there everyday
even Sunday

but not outside the cathedral
for no one goes there
with a charitable heart

you see,the foundations are crumbling.

No comments:

Post a Comment