The View

Along the river they walked.
Two souls in sync with one another.
They stared at the unmistakable London skyline
they couldn’t take their eyes off it.
Waiting for nine o’clock to come
they explored the city.
Starting at the London Eye
watching it stare down on them.
Like the eyes of God, it stared.

They kept on walking.
The Thames River a welcomed friend
joining them for an evening stroll
unafraid to be heard.

St. Paul’s appeared next.
Sitting in place, wanting to be noticed by the couple
Like an obedient puppy waiting for it’s owner.
They looked and smiled, he did his job.

Shakespeare’s Globe appeared on their right
nestled between the Tate Modern and old pubs.
“There’s nothing more English, right?” he said.
She laughed and smiled. “Right.”

They walked and walked
Their destination coming up ahead.
Over London Bridge they went
Passing the Monument to the Great Fire.
It towered above them like a skyscraper.

The Sky Garden, they arrived.
Up and up the 37 floors
the elevator stopped with a ding.
Met by the cold air, they walked in.

The view was extraordinary, unforgettable.
Both their mouths ajar they looked.
And looked.
Amazed by what they saw.

The buildings that had towered over them had shrunk.
They were now the ones looking down on them.

They just barely saw the Eye,
It lost its track of them,
Unable to see the couple anymore.

St. Paul’s was seen as well,
overshadowed by the view,
he was almost forgotten.

Shakespeare’s Globe was hiding,
overpowered by the larger buildings.
Afraid to come out.

The Monument was barely visible.
Just below, the couple towered above him now,
They were the skyscrapers.

They were the ones to tower over London.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
They viewed the city as the city viewed them,
an all-seeing eye.

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Tara Murray is an American living in London. She’s a self proclaimed literary nerd trying to figure out life one anxiety attack at time. She writes semi-autobiographical short stories.

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