The Unfinished City

On a mighty river, too wide to ford,

An Italian city begins to grow,

Until Boudica razes her to the ground.

But, like a Phoenix, she rises again,

And, with a new wall to defend her,

She begins, again, to flourish.

But soon, the Legions depart.

And the city, once a bustling metropolis,

Becomes a ghostly shell.

Angles, Jutes and Vikings

All bring violence and bloodshed,

As each vies for power.

Until a Great Saxon defeats the invaders,

And, after resettling the city,

Trade and enterprise return.

Soon, a new bridge spans the river,

And, to a newly fortified south,

She spreads.  

A Christmas King builds a Norman tower,

A tower for a city; a capital city.

Yet, once again, she is ravaged,

As a Tornado lays waste to the wooden city,

Reducing her, and her bridge, to kindling.

Her people recover, rally and rebuild.  

Disaster, as the Black Death kills a third,

Before an inferno scorches her soul.

But, from the ashes, a new link is forged with the south;

A small town, built on a bridge of stone.

But, oh! How then the south does burn,

Ending with a firestorm above the River.  

A new wall of earth, with bastions and redoubts,

Is built to stop the King’s men,

As the city is, by the sword, divided.

Then the darkest plague, decimating her population,

With no sign of a cure.

Bells toll throughout the night.  

Until a fire, the greatest fire,

Burns four days and four nights,

A saviour of the strangest kind.

Rebuilding begins with a masterpiece,

A monument to worship, for all time,

Towering above the new city.  

An expansion begins in the south,

As new bridges span the River,

Tradesmen and immigrants fill the city,

Swelling her population.

Destitution and crime, the new norm.

But can it be stopped by Runners?  

All the while she continues to expand.

Westminster, Palace of Palaces.

A City of cities,

And as the Indian Empress takes control,

Tranquillity and prosperity are abundant.

She is content.  

But, as human and beast compete for space,

Her veins become clogged,

So, Tunnel Rats begin to chew through the clay,

For machines that spew steam and smoke.

And as a Towered Bridge begins to rise,

A terror rips the East apart.

A new century: An ancient plague.

And as pearly Royals appear on her streets

There is a sorrowful cry:

"The Queen is dead: Long live the King."

Celebrations erupt, as the world visits the White City,

While Saxe-Coburg and Gotha becomes Windsor.

Calm returns, but she is different.

Her scars are deep and open,

But, her wealth and industry aid the healing.

Streets of cobbled stones and buildings of wood,

In juxtaposition with the concrete towers rising upwards.

The Cathedral is being choked.  

As German conquest begins, again,

The great bell is silenced.

Defiant, Britain stands alone

As her new Prime Minister insists,

"We shall fight them..."

Her darkest and finest hours are yet to come.

Children move out of the city,

Leaving families broken.

Her remaining sons, now trained to kill,

Are shipped out, many never to return.

Her daughters, replacing the sons,

Tame the land and work the factories.

For those who remain, it is time to prepare.

Defence of the Realm, fortification of the Isle.

Yet, there is a calmness,

As life, though different, continues,

While families strive to

'Keep Calm' and 'Carry On'.

For eight long months,

Bombs fall and buildings burn.

Holes pepper the streets,

And shelters affect the health of her young.

While, during the 'blackouts',

A new terror rips the West End apart.

Doodlebugs and Rockets; 

Fire and Brimstone.

Nothing can break her spirit,

As, towering above the destruction,

Wren’s monument still stands,

A symbol, uniting her people.

Soon, 'blackouts' change to 'dim-outs',

With bombs no longer falling.

Families, hoping to reunite,

Receive the gravest news.

But as the great bell chimes again,

Misery turns to joy.

From the ashes, she emerges, broken.

Times are hard, she needs help.

The call goes out, to every corner,

Answered, in time, by a Rush of Wind.

New blood, mixing with her own,

Over time, becoming one.  

Homes and factories reach skyward,

While a new stadium welcomes the world.

And, with the past buried,

A festival: A celebration of Britain.

Soon, though, overshadowed by a pea-soup fog,

Which kills thousands, in just five days.  

Swinging harmonies reign,

Until Troubles disturb the peace.

Riots, strikes and a Steel Ring bring fear to the city,

Till a grocer’s daughter leads the way.

And, as the city reaps the benefits,

The boom years begin.  

Her financiers move to the Hamlets,

And the docks become ports of a different kind,

As the mighty River is restrained by a great Barrier,

Yet while adultery and divorce spell death for her princess,

Powerful forces whisper of an Easter peace,

As a new MillenniuM approaches.  

From jubilation to fear, in a matter of hours,

As her transport lines are fragmented.

Her people ask: "Is anywhere safe?"

And she responds, "Yes!", defiant in the face of evil.

The third visit of the world: A show of unity against tyranny.

The greatest of games.

A Walkie-talkie and a Cheesegrater join the Gherkin,

In the Square Mile’s ever-changing skyline.

All awaiting the arrival of The Scalpel.

Meanwhile, pensioners help themselves to gold,

As a new transport line is royally named,

And her Police return to their roots.

Once again Terror strikes London's bridges,

Before a burning tower of death lights up the sky,

Blame passes from one to another.

A Beast brings wintry chaos,

Followed by the hottest of days.

Her infrastructure, unable to cope.  

An odd peace descends.

Not a peace of plenty and contentment,

Rather a peace of seclusion and fear.

Her citizens are locked down; her streets empty.

Her hospitals barely cope,

As rules are changed or ignored.  

Slowly, oh so slowly, normality returns,

But, like her people, she has changed.

Soon, though, celebrations begin again,

Street parties and celebrations,

Jubilation! Seven decades of service, too soon forgotten,

A funeral unlike anything she has seen before.  

Her streets, although not paved with gold,

Are a magical labyrinth, linking old with new.

Her past, inexorably entwined with the present.

And, still, she continues to evolve and expand.

Eternally changing and adapting,

Yet always... unfinished.

© Daryl G. Morrissey (2015-2026)