Facade [Day 5]

Tethered to ceilings, we find little
corners of perishable poverty in
bourgeois families, the brittle
niches of their palaces, all quite
isn’t that wonderful, dear?”
how beautiful must it be to incite
polite little unambiguous toasts
of ancestral history, barely alive
in the fragile trees that boast
their death, or those which hold
be careful, dear; the house creaks,”
in the silent hours of the very bold
night- armours that clink, music that
our symphonies are composed of, freak-
-ish tired hands guide along fine matted
sheets of important wallpaper, very
dull, homely, forgotten like the graves
of people living build around February
goodbyes and the polished syllables
what a fine life, all built to please.”

Tethered to ceilings, we find grand
works of beauty, a tamed garden,
watchful eyes with pristine, canned
dreams of years that went by, barely
remembered, but picturesque, indeed,
lurking to the roads, streets, valleys
of superficial people, entire towns calling:
have you been to the palace, m’dear?”
the callousness of their hollow galling
when bothered about the tea, the soft
bread, the spicing- all in good time, not
pressing about the details of the tossed
memories of the nightmares on twenty-fifth
street, the broken bones, as dreams,
honour the hunting games, the ones with
samplings, the fairs, the coins, the money
screeching to turn gold into pennies:
I’d like to call a crucial committee,”
and little trinkets are paid as testimony
to companionship with riches, not memories.

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3 thoughts on “Facade [Day 5]

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