These gaudy lamps, stained glass windows reckon,
Of a world so bright, glossed to perfection,
But in this gold city, shadows beckon,
Darkness clings to its edges with affection.
What lies beneath its most august façade,
Under scented sheets, woven with gold thread,
Away from prying eyes at the blockade,
Away from gilded streets others have tread,
Between the sizzling lights, the effulgence,
The echoes of gaiety and jubilance,
The lavish wealth and luscious indulgence,
Lies a dark void, a land of repugnance,
Blood clots the floor, like wine from a spilled grail,
The air within is redolent and rife,
Of a burnt and torn world, where none prevail,
Its bulwark gone, sundered by years of strife.
The lost and alone, swept away from sight,
Cast off from the light, only to discover,
Between the cracks and folds, an endless night,
No relief, no respite from it ever.
The lightless flame consumes without remorse,
The life of their souls, the breath of bodies,
There’s no cure for this, except but recourse
To death, reliever of all maladies.