Penal jungles carry soundcraft,
More fractures than will to address,
So forlorn shadows grow their depths,
Could all the rage in utopia,
Reason a cure in its chains?
Would the shepherd stand from the flock,
And say here I am?
Borders can make order on paper,
Boys and girls continue in ratios of virtue,
Either side of a swinging gate,
Now as noise assists the dismantlement,
Menacing strains protrude like candle litter,
Beneath a shady shelf of dust, paper,
And pastel coloured labels.
Rowan Blair Colver