London Poem

Land of concrete,

Red brick, patch work green,

Dim stars, bright lights, things obscene.

Constant sirens wale in the pale dawn, and dusk, of London's scenery.

Tutting mouth slurps

And bus driver bickering,

Foreign tongues and mini ganstas sniggering.

Swarms of colonies, red, White and blue,

Not one name for me or you.

Constant noise, constant spitting!

Its fitting.

Love thy neighbour like a stranger,

Turn the left cheek when you're in danger.

Heads look forward, straight,

Only the weird ones unabate.

No identities, and many,

It's a multifaceted paradise

From which, I promise,

You will sometimes miss.