The City

Having been to the end of the night,
Having touched the dawn that meets
        the city lights
         neon, real
          the turning of a wheel
Annihilating
         the chatter under the fluorescence
         the clatter of feet on cobbled streets
         ancient city's dreams,
Here unrealized, unredeemed, the time
         what was that ancient's cry?
What were your words, distant friend,
         so far into the dusk, so long
         gone upon the river's side
          like sludge that washes the shores
         of Thames, old friends what was your cry?
Why did your voice rise?
Or was it nothingness I always heard,
         empty in a word?

Ancients, I know I heard you speak.
          I hear you beside me now, upon
          these streets
          by this water's shore;
          I heard you would go journeying...

Then let it be
          come walk with me, this way
          upon the ancient city
           her breath of fire upon the day,
           burning lady
            dressed half-way;
            raise your legs,
            we will not tarry, longer than to
            plant a kiss; we have all been
            through this, day upon day; we need
            to make a new way across the waves.

The dawn meets the grey
            of towers
             the river, silently
              the ghostly eyes behind the skull
               that beheld your city.





(C)1980-2018 by W.G. Milne