The View from Stow Hill

How did this town get so old
The air I breathe feels so heavy and cold
Always caught in between
The capital and the 'other' country
Always caught in between
The river and the valley
You can still see the bullet holes
You can still sense a little hope
Crushed dreams
And the martyrs too
Silent — ghostly — still so confused
Look up to the skies
Avoid the casual litter
Running from the pitiful nihilism
The misguided tweets
The sad Facebooking
Cheapness surrounds me
But I’m not looking