Canaries In a Mine

Kisses from insolvent grave, Stole the dying breath away So dizzyingly fast, It escaped as fleeting vapour; The hackles bristled, raised, Clouds of ink on sunny days, As scratching quills engraved Upon white paper Who among the sprawl could feel If it was or wasn’t real, The secret of the dream Beyond the ruffle of the curtain? Beggar soup and furtive fate And how long we wait and wait, Until all that yet may be, Remains uncertain. Someone gasped but never said If the halos ‘round the head Needed either polishing Or a surreptitious breaking, I don’t at length suppose That at the naming of the rose, The parents knew the thorns Would be the making. And like canaries in a mine We are running out of time, So dizzyingly fast We are encroached by our inactions; All we were and were not told, Fossilised by freezing cold, And all that was or passes by Were scant distractions.