Vigil In Teddington

On Friday, they looked toward an empty cross – shoppers shopped, and moved on.

In that space, no feeling of hate, no brick wall, no steel gate.  No barbed wire fence, no recompense.

There was an energy, I felt it, something reverent.  This was a verse of an ancient kind, hearts aligned, spirits entwined.

And a white dove appeared.

‘O children, lost in the relentless war, your heartbeat stops but your soul travels far.’

Listen, we all hold the keys to heaven, all it takes is for folks to gather on a scrap of green in the middle of a busy town.



About Alice F Wickham

Chief bottle washer of New London Writers; would be ruler of the entire planet. (There would be far more trees, I promise you that!) Modest megalomaniac; thinker, dreamer, and milk chocolate eater. Co-creator of a brave new universe where poetry comes before profit, and you ALWAYS get a seat on the train.

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