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The Lost Children of Albion
Self-imposed exile
And never ending stretches of road,
Shoes of tough leather
Constantly make love and war
With each ceaseless footfall.
A child of such promise,
A child of endless delight
Belongs no-where
And sleeps rough tonight.
What has become of you
Belovéd Albion?
Have the seas of lies
Washed over your pure shores of truth?
Oh well, never you mind
I've lost all I ever had
With no place I can really call home.
In banishment
You think Im truly fucked,
But I retain the only bit if Englishness
That I ever loved
And thats the lost art
Of gentlemanly conduct.
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| this reads so true. Very powerful, very subdued, clever, and it climbs quietly, intensely, I love the tone and the gentle nature of the poem. The images are beautiful and familiar, and the tone is perfect. I really like this! |
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Comment by: PANDORA - 2006-06-28 16:41
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| "have the seas of lies washed over your pure shores of truth"--what a great analogy. Sad in the beginning but at the end your strength is returned. Strong poem with great flow. ** |
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