From above the london lights,
Shine orange, yellow and white.
The trains like worms,
Go underground,
Only to come up,
On the other side of town.
Everyone is busy,
In their own little world.
No-one says hi,
Or whispers a word.
And I judge them here,
From my ivory tower.
Up high in the clouds,
Above the towers.
They don’t know I’m here,
Looking down on them.
As I climb higher,
In my roll of tin.
London is a blur,
Of lights on the ground.
Goodbye London,
And your mystical underground.
Author: The Pesky Poet
Never assume that you are no good at what you love as if you love it enough you will make it better. Take that form a dyslexic who was told they would never be able to write with any quality.
Thank you for reading and please feel free to follow https://peskypoetry.co.uk
