At night

from this polluted prison,

I see two tiny eyes

twinkling with mischievous promise,

in London’s busy skies.

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London ashes

Heads bobbing like burnt embers
Cursed by the ignorance of beauty
The silent scream of the self-conscious being
London feeding like a parasite under my skin

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#micropoetry #4lines

The Crows They Call

The crows they call with a caw, caw, caw
as I remember the rare ones I saw
at London Tower many years ago;
ago, ago, now I caw,
for I miss those things so.

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