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Rusty Broadspear

God Bless You My Son

Finding reflective surfaces

Amongst and beneath the grime

Of this monstrous concrete cavern,

The voice bestowed a muffled echo

Equal to that of the traffic above.

Darkness an early unwelcome companion

Concentrates between concrete monoliths,

Playing out fitful nightmares elsewhere.

Accompanied by varied stench

A constant chilling wind

And a domineering burden of loneliness.

The black concrete sky

A shield from a human tide.

City lights beckon,

Creeping further away.

Feeling cold and old,

Missing lost loved ones,

I rest in this filth and quietly sob.

Then I hear the voice.

God Bless You My Son.

Through frosted glass eyes

I see a priest looking down at me.

He’s young, smells of aftershave

And offers a clean, manicured hand.

I greedily accept

Blubbering forgiveness.

In a voice too deep for his build

He says ………………………

Son, you are not lost.

Only one footstep has strayed from the path.

Stand by me

Ask not why of me

And I will send you to true fruition.

I am with you my son,

You are never alone.

I stood in the darkness and filth

And all I could see was light.

Alone, I walked proud, smiling,

Knowing all would turn out all right.

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