In London Fogs Are Empires Built.


Through the London fogs I stagger, lost in a drunken haze of misfortune and bad decisions. Some call it life, but I prefer bad luck.
Time is lost in this place, this grey cityscape of unaccountable moments. No bat nor bird fly here, both confused, as are all. Like limbo, my London remains neutral waiting for someone to tip the scales. Someone like me.
This fogged forever is a place for chance encounters, for the daring and brave, the bad. It awaits a King, someone to grasp the mantle of leadership and wipe away the smear of grease that covers it. My London begs for an empire to be built around it. I can taste the saline licking of its lips.
I sneer at a lantern and kick at the cobbles. This city is mine, it just doesn’t know it yet. Not quite yet. But it will. It will.

Advertisements

29 thoughts on “In London Fogs Are Empires Built.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s