Invisible Death

I used to travel through the labyrinth of the Kings Cross Underground twice a day before I left London in 1987. This was written after I returned, some months after the awful fire in which so many died. I am publishing this exactly 25 years after that tragedy.

No evidence
of that night of death.
No hint of fire,
no scent of smoke.
The walls have been cleaned.
Scrubbed down,
and whitewashed,
the offence has been painted over,

There are no graves,
no screams of anguish
no shouts of panic
in smoke-filled corridors.

But still you know
and can imagine.
Still you walk with respect.
For death has surely been here
Leaving its invisible mark.

© David B – December 1988