Resound with the ringing brass,
An uneasiness descends upon me
That is indescribable.
The overwhelming generosity of
Those within this former home of
God and his followers –
A home they still call “our own” –
Convinces me that my own attendance
Here is tinged with ulterior motives:
And who’s to say otherwise?
Where their propagated cause is worthy
My own is certainly fraudulent,
This whole show a simple smokescreen
For me to see her alluring self again.
In this candle-lit setting,
Folly gives rise to hope as the scents
Sweep me away to my imaginarium –
Home to such impractical desires.
Above my seat, a film reel highlights
Why we are here, but rather than it
I stare silently at her, the essence of innocence.
Come the show’s end, they take the acclaim
While I harbour hopes of taking her heart;
Yet a person in idleness fades from memory,
And I was trapped in the depths of Clongriffin
While an inevitable swoop took place:
Her heart has been stolen from my palm
Where it never sat comfortably to begin with.
And I just have to marvel at my bold plans
Of fleeing this island and making my fortune:
What would be the point if I returned to find
That everybody I had ever loved was gone?
No comments:
Post a Comment