Along the dark waters of the Thames stands the memorial Long it stretches along the wall bordering the hospital Where many it commemorates spent last hours Alone terrified struggling for life with every breath Thousands of hearts adorn its surface Some once bright red now a pale shade of pink Others gone so faint Like memories of the lives spent in safer times Names given meaning by messages of love A dear father, taken too soon, missed by all Taken by a visit to the shop, a drink in the pub A chat in a neighbour’s house a queue in the post office Everyday acts innocent before now poisoned with death’s sharp arrow Nurses bus drivers shop assistants laboured through the lockdowns Could not escape the locking down of life of breath On the opposite bank of the Styx sits the grand palace Site of endless talk and lies Whose masters watched indifferent as wretches struggled Gasping desperately for air clutching at the straw For them the dollar and the pound the sandwich shops The heaving pubs the cut and thrust of commerce and commute The centre of a universe of Moloch which suffering and loss do not touch Nor tears nor entreaties move from its predetermined axis The graves stand silent the mourners gone Accusingly the monument stares across Waiting the moment of truth when accounts will be settled And murderers names writ large in blood upon its tragic surface
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