Pigeon poetry

A poem I wrote on a bench at Hampstead Heath i April.

Sometimes I walk to the park

and watch the lake in company

of pigeons and ducks who's

minding there own business

surrounded by nothing but the

silent sound of pigeons talking

an old man walking by

I try to rest my mind

from all the thoughts

I don't want to have



The houses on the other side of the lake

are a labyrinth, a maze

of bricks and souls and songs

and lonely cries under a falling sky



The pigeons are comings closer

it's as if they haven't noticed me

as I'm invisible

a piece of air

camouflaged to fit the bench



I can't count the birds

They're as many as the people

on a busy London street

And i can not recall how it feels to be loved

its months since anyone was this close

as close as the pigeons