Punctured Lungs

The lungs of London were punctured today,
A metropolis struggling now for breath, gasping
As the acrid smell of sad news fills its airways
To cast its black spectre of smoke under doors,
Through multicultural neighbourhoods, stunned
Communities reaching out with bottled water,
Blankets, toys, prayers and shocked disbelief.

The muffled alarm bells have been silenced.
Questions lay unanswered in the pools of grief
Flooding empty halls and children’s bedrooms.
Playgrounds emptied, laughter all but cancelled
For the foreseeable future, in respect of the dead.
I can only turn and stare at the clear blue day
A clear blue day that for some would never arrive.

Here the air feels good in my lungs, gratefully
Accepted, far enough away, not having drifted
This far, not on the sombre airwaves connecting
And redistributing their grim suffering from afar.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe some more.
My lungs are unaffected, my soul much less so.
A cloud passes overhead and cries a single tear.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s