Wednesday, 18 July 2012


Gathered on the floral way within the city of dreams
Experiencing the underworld of ten thousand screams
Medieval parapets upon sculpted forestry of spires
Sprawling avenues cover ancient funeral pyres
Souls wander on the crags beneath the silent rock
Past the rooted heart and glimpse the fragrant clock
Winding through the maze of embittered cobbled streets
Foreign tongues amid the sounds of ancient beats

The crack at one erupts, shakes and rattles those unsure
To enlightened ears a sound so familiar and so pure
The common tongue of local voices drifts upon the breeze
To oasis in the concrete and once again she breathes
Daubers of new worlds and old, peddle golden wares
Spirits from the graveyard attract a multitude of stares
Where resurrected ladies and mussel sellers roamed
The travelling man mesmerises with all the skill he’s honed

New artists in their finest garb in claustrophobic alleys
Seeking inspiration in tales of feudal opulence and galleys
Tall and silent on royal ground stands one master of the tale
Sunken rooms on reeky streets the master’s words inhale
Mixing tongues and stories they welcomed all who passed
And in the tavern’s shelter forged friendships hard and fast
On footways of forgotten times they strode in awe and wonder
And in the darkness of the room Reeks spell they do fall under

© Fergus Martin