The sullen clouds of grey cloak the coast
As the ice cold Cuan whispers upon the land.
I brought in the wreath. Coloured of a small tortoiseshell,
Looking unfamiliar amongst the sea-foam whites and glossy kelp
Greens. Made up of colours that had long since passed.
How we laughed! How this saved soul
Did not plan to take into our blood red wines
Our creamy, fleshy breads
Our cannibalisation.
Silence. Then we turn towards you
Immaculate, pure, in royal blue
Just like the Lady herself.
Peaceful, not a shudder, not a blink –
I remember, in less still times,
Your clouded eye. Misty, cyan,
Like a raging whirlpool on the Lough.
Sullen tones fill the room of an old stereo, bound by the Lord
Disturbing the peace, making the silence
Louder – between us. We decide we’ve had enough
We’ve spent too much time thinking our own thoughts
Each other's voices echoing discordantly, incessant.
We leave you on your horizontal throne
Your floral subjects surrounding you
A grip on your pendant of mysteries.
The door closes. A blurred cold glow emits into the wastelands
The frosted windows of your soulless palace.