More than bricks,
You are a place where
ghosts perform daily.
Filled with talent,
Filled with dreams,
Fuelled by those with ambition
and thick skin.
Circular corridors,
an infinite shape
People lost to their surroundings,
Offices built on top of studios,
On top of legends of our lives.
Sadness touches us as we watch
and listen to the wise words from those
Lucky enough to wear a BBC pass.
Change, yes
as sure as death it will happen.
I just wish not in my lifetime.
How can I see this palace of performers
Turned to someone’s Penthouse view?
When television stopped
We were left with the test card
of the girl, her toys and the chalkboard.
Now we live in a world of 24/7 TV
Everything available on demand.
How beautiful it would have been
for generations to come
to discover the first television centre
of its kind
in the whole world.
A place for them to blossom too.
I cannot believe
they are
closing the
BBC
awritersfountain 