London 7am

Face down on the pillow
On another grey day
Swaddled in a duvet
Body a deadweight
Blanket a lifeline
Scanning somehow for a sign
What to make of this time?

Are these the golden years we prayed for?
And packed up and said goodbye
And left and walked away for?

What did we think we’d find?
Why did we even come here?
What do we stay for?

Fog says be thankful
Clouds say get out
Damp on the wall,
Another flood,
Another drought.