Angel City Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

It's a bit rusty at the edge, falling apart at the seams,
Its times are past, its hopes, its dreams.

From inside our glass house, its easy to scorn the past,
To think we're the only ones, who will endure, who will last.

Those thousands who strove, and built the world in their time,
Built the world of tomorrow in a city so fine.

But in its perfection, its all still there,
In the virtual world, flying in the air.

Its still occupied by an angel with wings,
Who dreamt up this city, placed himself among kings.

But kingdoms come to pass, and even angels fall,
And then we realise that his xanadu was very small.

In our ambition to rise and place a monument on this hill,
We forget that down there in the slum, life went on still.

We realise that it's people that count, not glass and steel,
That walls are lifeless, but communities thrive and feel.

So Angel City is fallen, the angel long gone,
But that doesn't matter for even angels need a home.