UNTITLED TERROR
I don’t like what happened to this town
Silk threads hang from rafters
overturned carriages lie without laughter
Family crests are coloured only with sighs
Bouffant hairdos have been torn from the sky
Coins sharpened to cut pearly throats
..once we were safe and whole behind moats
The days are blurring without heirloom clocks.
Oh quiet boutique shops.
Dust is collecting on a hall of portraits
Wallpaper peeling to scuffed parquet.
Who once lit up the halls of kings, now begging on the dirty streets.
Faded glory and dull eyes
Smeared lipstick and fearful smiles.
They turned on you once, they might do it again.
So you give up your children, your smartest men.
The women are left to tatters of gowns.
Ripped more by foot servants and page boys liking what they have found.
Tarnished silver rots in the cupboard.
Glorious fabric now stained deep, muddy brown.
I don’t like what happened to this town.