Sweet Irony,

hits my tangled troubles, and frees this

blade

from the stranding line

Cynically slides,

Through dusty gemstone,

To offer a soft respite to my ethereal

plagues.



Let me cover with silence,

The figures around me:

A velvety sigh on the noisy stammering.



Grow to a physical essence,

And heavily walk on this living mosaic

Called pain...

I can hear the breath of every dowel:

My demons are waiting...



Conceal this fool architecture

From my (singing) conviction.

Blind my cyclopian, trifling dreads

And dethrone the useless days

From my infested eyes.

Irony, my care.