The Clairvoyant

They stepped into the rooms 
where the children used to sleep
on faint-blood scented beds,
incarcerated with belief.
 Dance-dangled and wobbled,  
then sat down and bubbled, 
their hands on the Bible 
some priest made them read.
An hour worth walk 
to the theatre whose  
audience will talk 
over and never applause,
nor the featherbrains 
nor the dissipated whores,
clinging onto remote good days
when frail actresses attempts
to reverence would graciously fail.
A hundred years of night 
came clanching the City from the inside,
after both storms and bombings
with their lightening bolts like warnings 
tore the Church Gates into crumbs.
Rolling thumbs,sitting 
at the Table of Fools,
bending diners in groups 
still go placidly immune 
to mass defiance when opportune.
So Long Law and long lost Faith,
suppressed by deities up to date
whose rules lie engraved 
on the Saxon Writs 
where one can find the myths 
of wolves in boxes and bone shaped
foxes parading on the streets.
"The world's at war, 
haven't you read The Times?" 
shouts Little Match Girl to
the righteous men in Line.
 A bunch of bolsheviks in the distance
showing uniforms surreal,scarlet tainted,
cotton pockets abundant with wrong ideals.
The time traveller's mad helper 
traded chemicals for rifles, 
taste of carton paper-shelters
from this epoch's global lies and trifles.
Caressed by the Thames
is the Abbey of Shivering Gold,
its immaculate altars worms
grew like disciples from exotic wars.
What sort of luck,or lack
led them into worship such God?
Left alone are rounding corners
to the fears one left unfold.
The Army has sold its soldiers
as the "good reasons" turned to crimes,
a toast to the mercenaries'lonelier,
the beat of cannons'march in time.
Old men nameless ran useless
for the set wont even settle
for no battle was ever battled,
born in violence the germ of Greed  
proliferates in silence
nurturing breeds that in silence rattle. 
A Nation with no Glory
saw the people leaving Town,
but the young man wont give in 
he is eager, Campanile bound.
An infantile dream awaits, 
but he's stuck within the crowd,
kneeling to the marble statue 
of the Admiral Refound.
With eyes that scoop around
no more feels what pain calls grief.
With eyes of blue profound,
headless to a dreamless dream.
One step to re-start,  
One step to forget,
Last step to fill  with nonsense 
a life full of regret..