You can sense a silence
An echo of doom
from the histories
Haunts the city
Jauntily stroking the mansions and garden lawns
Trickling down through the echelons
Waking them up, even, only almost though
The city snores, basks in its own glory
the glory of a smoggy newly wed boy,
Like a sissy
The snooty city almost deterred in its own existence
Words make no sense
The galls of the tormentors moving
Inch by inch
In sync with the shapely shadows of the hounds it brings with it
A bell rings from far off
The lights still on,
The sliding gliding sinuation beguiled of its own bespoke future
The silence stays put
Unstirred
Knocking on the doors of the palaces of ministers and their cocoons
Getting almost in through the ajar hinges...
Discussion about this post
No posts