The stone skeleton
In the silent turmoil of the night,
There is a noise that remains eternal.
The stone skeleton never sleeps,
The soft wounds of life grazed its bones, ripped its back.
Because god knows people jumped,
Floating in the dark current,
Blood streaming down the river, vanishing from their tangled veins.
People met, people kissed, leaning against its discolored curves,
People said "see you tomorrow" but never came back.
People danced to the water's bewildered melody,
People let their emotions escape from their brains, dripping down their metal tasting tongs.
In the fog, vague shapes detach from the landscape,
Overlooking the city, full of pollution and disillusions,
It knows, it knows life will never invade its cold collarbone.
But, somewhere in between its thighs and ankles,
Ideas and ideals stand out from the crowd.
Joint second prize in the junior section, ASIBA poetry competition 2016
Read by François Holmey
Waterloo Bridge, London, at Dusk, Claude Monet
Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington