01-31-2020, 12:33 AM
This is a poem I've written for someone to read at my wedding ceremony. My partner proposed outside Down Street station following a tour of the disused underground station. This is the first poem I've written and would welcome any feedback that can help me improve it. I'm prepared to rewrite it significantly or give it an alternative form.
Many thanks for your help.
Down Street, one knee, a hushed proposal alone in Mayfair
Stillness snatched from the city's Sunday sleep
A spiral staircase, emerald tiles gleam through cracks in the charcoal walls
Faint tap of typewriters from fingers long entombed, a hum of distant trains
that flash and scream through pockets etched in the darkness
Our hidden London beneath the blood tiled arches of this discarded station
Concave walls cradle strangers too close, sucked into trains, suffocating
Blind to these estranged tunnels, disconnected and reassigned
A one way mirror, we stand as voyeurs from a parallel time
This is our platform, guarded from the warped blur of faceless bodies
In the bowels of the city down disused shafts, our torch beams entwine
Carve a trail through decades of dust which enshrine this hollow cave
Above us, London sprawls in cold sun, a knotted tangle of streets and back alleys
Here, mapped neatly in lines, painting blackened brick walls with Beck's designs
Shoulder to shoulder, each morning we breathe the same air
Lock eyes through a smoke of powder as she sweeps her skin
Tunnel vision as we judder along the city's blocked arteries
A carbon labyrinth, our vesselled secret within
Many thanks for your help.
Down Street, one knee, a hushed proposal alone in Mayfair
Stillness snatched from the city's Sunday sleep
A spiral staircase, emerald tiles gleam through cracks in the charcoal walls
Faint tap of typewriters from fingers long entombed, a hum of distant trains
that flash and scream through pockets etched in the darkness
Our hidden London beneath the blood tiled arches of this discarded station
Concave walls cradle strangers too close, sucked into trains, suffocating
Blind to these estranged tunnels, disconnected and reassigned
A one way mirror, we stand as voyeurs from a parallel time
This is our platform, guarded from the warped blur of faceless bodies
In the bowels of the city down disused shafts, our torch beams entwine
Carve a trail through decades of dust which enshrine this hollow cave
Above us, London sprawls in cold sun, a knotted tangle of streets and back alleys
Here, mapped neatly in lines, painting blackened brick walls with Beck's designs
Shoulder to shoulder, each morning we breathe the same air
Lock eyes through a smoke of powder as she sweeps her skin
Tunnel vision as we judder along the city's blocked arteries
A carbon labyrinth, our vesselled secret within