That Poem by Malcolm Gould

That big building you used to think
was always a point of interest.
Often looking inside the huge place
glancing up at the flats above.
This morning your routine changed
burned down by a mob deranged.

From a distance today you had to pass
now a burnt out blackened shell.
survived enemy bombs during the blitz
a reflective comment often heard.
No more can this land mark be seen
where the towns history had been!

Streets that use to be smart and trim
now are burnt out and grim.
Until the different cultures unite
onward will be the fight.

The Foureyed Poet.