It's OK if I should pass on to the world to come, because I can honestly say, with my hand on my heart, that I have played my part and I have definitely left my mark... it's OK if I had to go because I would again get to see all the people whom I have known - including the man who was always and who will forever be my hero... it would be OK I were to have written my last poem and to have seen my last sunrise, because I know that I did my best every day while I was alive... it would be sad to have to go and to not be able to say a proper goodbye to all those people who I know would miss me when I am gone and who I know would think of me and cry... it is not something I am planning to do, it is not something I am looking forward to, but if this poem were the last thing that anybody heard of me then I hope I will be remembered as being someone who gave back and who believed that every day was a gift... it is my lasting hope and my wish that someday someone will read my words, someone will see my face, someone will think about something or about someone who they love and wonder what and whom it was who inspired me, and the future reader of my poetry and I will begin to communicate with one another across space and across time because we will have created a bridge back to each other that we can use to learn more about ourselves and about how we can all help others through the darkness that follows the last light of our last sunset.
bridge
My Poem ‘The Shard of Hope’
London called, and I replied;
London is like a beautiful city from another world,
and the whole time I am there
I feel like I am on a magical ride.
I have always been drawn to inspiring places –
that is why I love going to cities,
because they are filled with so much energy, life,
and a myriad of interesting, fascinating,
fascinated, voices and faces.
London is something else, though,
and like another unbelievable city, New York City,
London is a hive of intense and magnetic activity.
Riding the Underground,
feeling the beating vibe,
while walking and traveling overground –
whether on the tube,
or going from place to place on the city streets –
London takes you and shows you things
you have been imagining and have seen in your mind
in all there grand and epic scales,
and around every corner, or on the skyline,
there is a constant gallery of treats.
Standing outside the gates of Buckingham Palace;
being next to the Houses of Parliament
when Big Ben struck two;
bowing my head while facing the Poppy-wreath flooded Cenotaph,
and remembering the fallen in silence,
as countless people walk past;
crossing Tower Bridge, and marveling at everything about it –
from the sandy colour of it’s castle-like towers,
to its suspensions of white and blue.
The biggest thrill,
and the sudden appearance that wowed me and struck me the most,
was the towering and phenomenal sight of The Shard
shooting up to the sky,
as I was standing outside the London Bridge tube station –
I truly could not believe my eyes;
when I saw it, and every time I could,
I took a chance to look at it,
and be completely lost in instances of fixation,
adoration, and gravitation.
When I reached the Tower of London,
and when I walked around its high walls,
and finally reached the place where the final pieces
of a memorial of red ceramic poppies remained to be seen
and marveled at,
I felt that I had reached the end
of my amazing London journey of discovery;
however, I also knew in my heart that that wasn’t just that.
I came to a realization, as I was looking at the sun setting
behind the city skyscrapers on the other side of the River Thames;
and as I looked at the majestic Shard against the blue and golden sky,
I knew that this time was both a beginning and end:
I realized that London, Great Britain, my home,
was, is, has been, will always be,
one of the most beautiful, gleaming, and timeless, jewels of Earth,
and one of the most important beacons of acceptance
and greatness on the globe;
I realized that London, and our world itself,
is a constant spark in the dark of the universe,
and a powerful shard of hope.
Mark The Poet 