Poem 68

london who memorys barbed with your name

each as sharp and a touch just to bleed

looking up the sun blinds with an echo

of those who just simple want to know

and just to breath now declared  in secret

classed  a crime for you and me

as for home just made of tears each

one cast in crystal for permanent display

the poet speaks but his words are  foreign

thoe there  image shines a ring of perfect circle

but when did you ever not touch so deep

and each sealed with a smile upon paper bleached

and to the white night sky where  no trees lives

but below life breath invisible until the cold shows

and they dare to say this is no heaven for you and me

yes my guitar weeps from the painting now complete

but at the horizon my hart beats with the sea between

never to kiss or hold  the side of your cheek

yet in stone your name i wrote and of its love to me

as self titled elite cast are child to flames they need to feed

and when asked to explain they turn and say this is how heaven made

now deaf to screaming pitch thats made them so rich