King Of The Jungle, Servant Of The Town Poem by Not Long Left

It's sad to think that you only ever
found true happiness when hanging
upside down from the Old Chesnut
Tree, smiling like a boy who had
fallen face first into a pool of joy.

Hours would you spend sitting,
dangling your legs in the chilly evening air
The fine blonde hairs on your white
English legs like baby blades of grass
on a crickets boundary line.
Looking out beyond the suffocating city
dreaming that under some distant cloud
lay waiting your Jane.

Nine years on and the tree's still there.
Blackened now it creeks and whines
even in the faintest of winds,
burnt one night last winter, kids with
nothing better to do than destruct.
Robbed of its gift to give fruit only
condoms and plastic bags hang from it now.

And you, you never found yourself a Jane
even the nights spent on the streets
sleeping under the clouds you discovered
nothing but time, endless agonising time.
Until the day came when the clouds stopped
drifting, and the hands stopped shifting
and your blackened heart stopped beating.

No Jungle of dreams did you find dear brother
just a festering swamp of junkies and whores
No Jane to fall from the branch into your arms
just a red eyed city girl with a desire to die.