London's Wake

Fall, fall again burning bridges down
Proud London but beneath your crown
This time wear the grimmest frown
To be written evermore 7/7 sent.

Not to reeve your mighty tolls
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,*
For even though Guy Faux fails
Before you open Guantanamo jails.

Fall to your tears fugitive for your children.
Have you not anyway been by man's
Hand made to arise again phoenix fashion
In the brimstone perfumes of your sacraments.

Plague, fire, blitz & now suicide bombing,
Blood sacrifice heralds in the New Millennium.

* Richard the Third. 1.1. WS.

Gift of Tongues