Going Home

Its evening,

As you step outside.
Along the river bank,
Then left onto the Millennium Bridge.

Gradually,
Slowed to a languid stroll,
The familiar buildings form around you.

You survey the scenic splendour.
From the silver curve,
above the textured Thames.

Where they are now..
The pointing and gasping crowds?
You feel a little sad that they are not.

This is their city,
at its very best.
They have made it so.

Lit up you wonder,
How far the light from beneath the surface starts?
in this multi-layered city of many dreams.

Then you recall the streaming life below,
A reflection..
The train of lights crossing the bridge ahead.

They are going home.

Still the faces of the few,
you pass now in silence
Are similarly touched.