England Burns Bright

Careless, these creatures,
Wrapped in desire,
Dependent and dumped
To be sick on the street, where

Like nothing you lie
With the sound of the silence
And the faintest of lights
Which shines from afar.

But all larks abound
Round this boy on his backside
As sweet little cherubs
Ease him onto his feet.

Now full and forlorn
But alive in the nightime!
Heaven can wait
For I am here now.