[ c o m m u t e r   i n   t u r m o i l ]

 

Gates shut,
But the people gathered round.
The network communicated only confusion,
And I could only look down.
Children laughed.
And children cried.

Standing at Whitechapel,
I could see the smoke,
The sirens heralding the circus of death.
And so the children laughed, 
And so the children cried.

I turned and walked away,
back to the supermarket, 
for coffee and fags.
I could have been on that train.
I lit one up and set fire to my soul.
I tried to imagine the children laughing,
but the sounds of tears were still ringing in my ears.
And I still have to go to work.

This cannot be right.
There must be something I can do.
Someone take my hand,
Tell me what to do!
Show me how to help,
And together we'll pull through.
Wipe our eyes and we shall see,
the children's laughter renewed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unless stated otherwise, text is copyright Alan François.  All rights reserved.

 

 

 

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