Not a word is spoken as they trudge along the Quayside;
by Dan Brown
the two hunched figures being buffeted by the winter winds.
The sky grows dark, but still they walk, seemingly searching
for an end. The river, sympathetic to their plight, slows to
their pace, and offers an odd sort of comfort to them both.
A dog barks in the distance. A little girls giggles and
screams as she is chased by her Father. A car crawls past,
engine whining, bodywork shining from it’s recent shower.
An old pair of eyes watches them for a short while; a tramp
scavenging the litter bins, surprised by their presence.
Above, seagulls fight the sea breeze, their harsh calls
occasionally ringing out, sounding hollow, and forlorn.
They pass under a streetlight, and become simple shadows
stealing along the riverside together, a comfortable silence
resting between them.
Men who stand alone must fight on their own,
Men who stand together, get left well alone.
Eyes meet and bring nervous smiles, for they are not men.
They are not what the world would perceive them to be, and,
as the World carries on, without suspicion, they sit, together,
and chuckle. For they are left alone in their bubble.
They glance around them, in darkness of a coalmine,
lips meet awkwardly, boyish fingers entwine.
They are schoolboys, so confused and lost in the World.
But they sit together as the only two in the World.
The question is asked can someone so young love with their
heart and soul?
Ask the shadows that hold hands forever, as they take their