Flames Burn Quietly.

           
            
           
           
...was walking            
(no particular reason)            
- most the city would    
call it a death-wish    
looking in the eyes    
of street men;    
some wear jail time well    
others, preparing for it            
             
crossed the road.            
Stood in the garden  
of that lifeless church,            
under a jacaranda tree            
meaning something            
in summer months.  
             
The old building smells of piss            
             
the concrete        
flakes like paint;        
pity they    
don't flake together        
cleaning bad graffiti        
off the personality              
             
jumped over            
the short, black steel fence            
             
saw the happy lady              
with a soup kitchen,            
trying to force some  
kind of nourishment  
into kids            
that believe              
glue            
is cheaper than  
life without it.            
             
Greeted her            
she smiled            
wearing friendly air;            
she’d take your lunch            
for someone else,  
given enough time      
(a feminine Robin Hood)            
             
stepped into the  
garden of remembrance            
now overgrown              
in need of a shovel            
and creative vision.            
             
Read a note on  
the parish notice board            
"You missed the bus!"            
it said.            
             
I walked home slowly            
mumbling something  
stupid about              
time travel,            
old churches              
and tattoos          
       
concluded    
the thought process      
in a quotation...    
         
"Sometimes shutting up            
is solace enough".            
             
             
-x-