The Divide Poem by david e golledge
The Divide
Heading towards Peckham,
following the Rye
one misty Winter night.
My footsteps fretting
the dusty streets,
disturbing the urban decay.
People passed, people lost,
The downtrodden face of social malaise.
And there,
over the rooftops,
the flashing apex
of Canary Wharf.
An icy pyramid
shimmering brightly high
above the litter blown ground,
floating
beside the moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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6/3/2024 7:01:16 AM # 1.0.0.1119
