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Brave New World

In the new world
You’ll walk through the cobwebed streets of the abandoned capital.
Hacking through the forests that line Trafalgar square and Piccadilly.
The lack of human smells upper cutting its way through your mind.
Only nature here, the scents whisper, only nature.
You’ll stalk the city parks now full of wheat fields
The crops, whipped up by the wind to salute you as you pass.
And finally, you’ll climb up,
Ascending through the canopy to stand upon the ruined dome of St Paul’s.
Tracing the cracks with your eyes,
The dome shattered like an old skull.
The pieces scattered and forgotten amongst the dust shrouded streets.
You catch a smell of history mixed with holy water,
A scent long ago forgotten.
The small sounds fly up through the empty air to reach you.
Street sounds made by nature, as the evening wind tickles your neck.
All the hairs standing to attention out of respect.
You’ll see a city laid out before you,
It’s spirit broken like a crucified criminal.
The rooftops, cracked like old skin, broken like old dreams.
And then you’ll look down,
To see spaces being cleared by the hands of tiny figures,
In this new world of ancient ways.
Clearings for new homes to be built,
New lives to begin.
Lives that will never know any other way.
As the sun drops, you’ll hug your animal’s skins closer to you.
The only clothes you will ever know.
The only clothes you ever truly earned.
Pulling them tight across the faded Gucci tattoo’s on your arms.
The rusted lip piercing flakes memories onto a world blessed with terminal amnesia.
And in that bone tired, soul tired, so tired moment,
You’ll finally see what this brave new world is.
Its how the old scarred, beard masked, beautifully grizzled face of nature is meant to be.
The sunset slices into the millennium bridge, bent and buckled,
Rusted and ruined, made unsafe.
Twisted and tamed by the jungle,
A monument to a forgotten mistake called civilisation.
The capital lying there below you,
So still, so calm, so graceful in its death throws.
Hear it whisper, ‘forgive them all, they know not what they do.’
And the new world will seem like a blanket draped over your shoulders.
Like a soothing, loving mother’s kiss on your cheek.
And you’ll know, in that moment,
That this brave new world,
This new garden of Eden,
Is a world that man will also destroy.

	Scott Devon

			Brave New World In the new world You’ll walk through the cobwebed streets of the abandoned capital. Hacking through the forests that line Trafalgar square and Piccadilly. The lack of human smells upper cutting its way through your mind. Only nature here, the scents whisper, only nature. You’ll stalk the city parks now full of wheat fields The crops, whipped up by the wind to salute you as you pass. And finally, you’ll climb up, Ascending through the canopy to stand upon the ruined dome of St Paul’s. Tracing the cracks with your eyes, The dome shattered like an old skull. The pieces scattered and forgotten amongst the dust shrouded streets. You catch a smell of history mixed with holy water, A scent long ago forgotten. The small sounds fly up through the empty air to reach you. Street sounds made by nature, as the evening wind tickles your neck. All the hairs standing to attention out of respect. You’ll see a city laid out before you, It’s spirit broken like a crucified criminal. The rooftops, cracked like old skin, broken like old dreams. And then you’ll look down, To see spaces being cleared by the hands of tiny figures, In this new world of ancient ways. Clearings for new homes to be built, New lives to begin. Lives that will never know any other way. As the sun drops, you’ll hug your animal’s skins closer to you. The only clothes you will ever know. The only clothes you ever truly earned. Pulling them tight across the faded Gucci tattoo’s on your arms. The rusted lip piercing flakes memories onto a world blessed with terminal amnesia. And in that bone tired, soul tired, so tired moment, You’ll finally see what this brave new world is. Its how the old scarred, beard masked, beautifully grizzled face of nature is meant to be. The sunset slices into the millennium bridge, bent and buckled, Rusted and ruined, made unsafe. Twisted and tamed by the jungle, A monument to a forgotten mistake called civilisation. The capital lying there below you, So still, so calm, so graceful in its death throws. Hear it whisper, ‘forgive them all, they know not what they do.’ And the new world will seem like a blanket draped over your shoulders. Like a soothing, loving mother’s kiss on your cheek. And you’ll know, in that moment, That this brave new world, This new garden of Eden, Is a world that man will also destroy.

The Poetry Kit