My heart
Is as
The old
West pier
In Brighton.
It has been stripped down,
To bear minimum,
The structure crumbles,
Winds, Rains and Tides,
Have wrecked
Once noble
Steel girders.
The Penny arcades,
Little lights and joy rides,
Have passed into history.
Only the starlings, black clouds,
At sunset,
Visit.
My heart
Is as
The old
West pier
In Brighton.
Shrouded in darkness,
Awaiting collapse,
It is old enough,
To remember
The little boy,
Who once played,
When the Pier
Lived,
And both made dreams,
That are now,
The Property
Of Ghosts…
© Poem Robin Marchesi
© Photo Ashley Chaplin
