The lingering odour of skin, smoke stained
On fabric and behaviours learnt, torn and burnt
All the while representations of irony
Spring up and flourish by sounds of siren

Deep from within the unwound, forgotten back streets
A palace devoid of royalty stagnates, their enigma
Only to awaken a far from fairy tale kingdom
Where lowered heads confirm discouraged hearts

Discarded brown paper bags blow as tumbleweed
Searching a vast soul now yearning for salvation
Just as the clasp on an empty bottle is too a burden
Replicating the mirrored inadequacy of one's self

Hush, don't stir, be still and forget
There is no need to fret, for your secrets will recover
As before, your eyes will cry desert like tears
Fuelling a familiar marathon of isolated misery

The sound of sullen and resentful silence
Inherited on the wings of the ever sure failings
Closest friend of the indiscriminate rapacious lover
Whose failings  resulted in vanquished flame

Shane T Farrell