Babble
No more to dance, no more to shine,
A clown down, on the foreign round.
Lost in the laughing trafficked city.
Tongues of pity now broken, now
Regretful of the truths hard spoken.
Flinching from stilleto'd eyes,
Solace sought in the lies screaming
From the pasted signs. Only
Here, hid among the blinded dragons,
Is there peace, my shattered sister.
Rest, lay down your blistered soul.
Copyright © Mark Priestley | Year Posted 2018
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