There are spires of aspiration,

I climb them but I cannot reach.

A mighty crest looks down on me,

I do not deserve to bear it.

Lines of books and silent arches,

The hum of the cathedral and the Great Gate,

Devoid of deviance and expression, -STAY OFF THE GRASS!

Where is the colour, the multitude, the joy?

Could I live this scholarly existence?

Of black robes and 600 year old stone?

Could I hear a church bell every morning,

A textbook in my hand every day?

Whilst my skin looses its stains and callouses,

In the city rumble of the night.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s