London Travels

Me and my brother had spent all day in London with our Dad, and I actually wrote this on the back of my hand whilst we were walking.

A lonely ship on a sea of tourists, a sole person swimming against the tides of suits.

The lonely sound of the singular musicians and the sparse tinkle of pity coins.

Glass grey buildings reflect on the grey water, and the splash of colour of tourist boats.

The banks of people, surge like the ebb of the water.

And yet, hidden treasures await those, brave enough to leave the well trod trails.

Venture forth into the depths of London and see the true within.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed