Lost

Forty, twenty, eighty, twelve –

the crowds of London ebb and swell.

The spark of youth and glow of old

are dulled and feebled by the cold.

Their faces frown against the rain

as it splashes down towards the drain.

A blur of people; not one was clear –

all oblivious to my blatant fear.

My neck craned up against coats

my shouts vibrate against my throat.

I sit frozen with fear and frost

no one hears me, I’m lost.

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4 thoughts on “Lost

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