When hatred lit the darkness in our tube lines,
And blew a London bus to bloody bits,
It left more scars than corpses though we mourn for,
The bleeding with crass reference to the blitz.
Cruel fear, next, in death's black wake arriving,
A terrorist, in silence, works to shake,
And break that sense of somewhere safe to shelter,
And for all our protestations "Not Afraid",
Does not ring true for me in my experience,
I'm terrified, and all the taxi queues,
Suggest that there are many who would rather,
Pay black cab fares than much less for the tube.
But being afraid is nothing to be scared of,
In some ways it's more admirable than just,
Pretending that we're not afraid when really,
We are screaming, clueless, hopeless, fit to bust