(no subject)

[apiphile]

a song for the city who is not yet done

cities are not eternal;
capitals without count lie buried
beneath ash, or mud, or sand, or ice,
not to mention the other alantises
our tongues have forgotten how to pronounce;
a city is a ruin without its people
and people die.

i cannot tell you how many more times
i will see the sun rise on the thames;

but i know this
is not the last time
we will burn.

i cannot tell you how long this lung-cementing
dirty paradise of poverty and of pain
will hold its ground
and remain

but i know this
unbroken history will speak
of all the challenges
overcome:

our bridge fell down so often
we made a song of it
our city burned like kindling
a hundred times a year
rains of screaming ordinance
ripped the earth to buggery
and we are not yet done.

it is true have seen tyranny
in times present and in past
but tyrants too are mortal
and tyranny does not last;

complacency is cancer
there are no guarantees
but we have seen darkness and frozen rivers
burning quarters and pestilent halves
stared destruction in the face
and sold it mouldy apples
my heart;
there are worse times than these.