City of Ghosts

I know. I know. I'm terrible. It's been WAY too long since I updated. What can I say? Life here has been crazy, and, as is typical for this time of year, school has sucked away my desire to write anything. November sucks. BUT, having to do homework means I've written more for my Writing in the City class.

This poem is inspired by our trip to the Tower of London to see the Ceremony of the Keys. This 700 year old ceremony marks the closing of the ancient castle/fortress/prison each night. Most people don't know about it and it's a relatively short ceremony, but going to it allows you to see the Tower at night, which is seriously cool/mildly creepy when you think of how many poor souls were tortured/killed there. Hence, the poem.

CITY OF GHOSTS

London is a city of ghosts.

Night falls early and they come out to play.

Look to the ramparts and roofs.

That’s where they stay.

The mists roll in and the air grows crisp.

Among us move the witnesses of the past.

What have they seen?

These people whose lives were gone all too fast.

They’re not a frightening lot.

Lives lost can’t be anything but sad.

Perhaps they bring warning for those of us still here.

We live in a world that is mad, mad, mad.

Walk the city with them.

Listen to their tales.

They are the heart of the buildings.

They’re still here when all else fails.