By the railings which were taken to provide for the war
lies a stone flecked with fungus laid open to the floor
inscribed with a tribute to those around the world
who refused to do for death

and Gandhi sits upon a marble plinth, his pose alluring
I think of those we learn to love
I think of Alan Turing
as the trees for Hiroshima's dead
spread dark shelter overhead

Oh, Virginia,
what a place to sell your scraps
and though you did not know it
it could not feel more apt
that you should seek to redefine
the way we see the mind
in this place of dissonant design

In the heat, on a sweet, soft September day
I had spoke, in the smoke, to road-addled lads
about Bethnal Green girls who had hoped for a better world
who had walked into war like they knew what it was for

And as I read I realised
that in July 2005
a young mans set a fuse alight
and those around him died

Oh, Virginia
If you could have seen all this
Your prose would flow lightly
and be crammed with pith
as few have exposed the way we wound our own
like you and those you were with

Because I reserve the right to refuse to kill
and I reserve the right to empathise with those who will
because horror begets horror
and peace corresponds
to attempts at understanding
not plinths or bombs

so the next time you see me in Tavistock Square
please help me look for the peace that I found there.