The Arches of Waterloo

It’s London
and it’s 3am,
I’ve stopped to spare
a thought for them,

Some once husbands,
Some once wives,
All once captains
of their lives,

Corrugated castles warm
These settlers of the streets,
Vagrant knights of nocturne,
Share metholated teats,

Preachers don their gospel boards,
Bearing anecdotes,
Of biblical extraction,
And pointless holy quotes,

Drunks walk free of reason,
And dance a curbside dance,
The ballet of the bottle,
An alcoholic trance,

Others cluster comfort,
Surround an urn of tea,
That volunteers in rain or snow
Supply religiously,

Broken social senses,
Forsaken ways of life,
I reassessed my hardships,
How little I knew strife.