Past

Past

past
the past is gas lamps
and a sepia tinge
tall hats reaching for the clouds
and handsome cabs
pulled by horses looking proud.

the past is an achievement,
with mighty iron bridges.
it bristles with beards and sideburns
and a moral fabric, though hypocritical,
somehow remained firm.

the past has a face with dirty smudges,
it has tall chimneys
bellowing out industrial smoke.
it is driven by steam engines,
fuelled by dark black coke.

the past is an empire
that stretched far and wide.
the changing face of class,
the industrial revolutions
that is the colourful past.

the past lives in grand houses
it worships at cold churches, 
one’s which Darwin never attended.
it fought sick, men laden wars,
were ill gotten riches were defended.

the past is a branch of our family tree,
that somehow seems so old.
it is long lost memories
left in minds, old and wise
and then, in the hearts of you and me.

the past is double decker trams
travelling up long lost streets.
it is heavy looking clothes
back to back neighbourhoods,
and winters full of snow.

the past is patriotic national flags,
loyal to King and country,
it is the betrayer of all it surveys.
it is idyllic village greens,
cricket whites and long hot summer days.

the past is the toil of the railways,
it is working canal barges.
the past is the renmants of us.
not as some think, no more than the shopping trolley,
left in an abandoned waterway, only to rust.

the past becomes the future,
and we are the something in between.
but too often we let the past to burn,
look around at this illegal war,
can we say that we have really learnt?

James Garratt – January 2008