Granite cobbles slick with grime and grease.
Worn smooth by centuries of the passing masses.
Stacked staggered, haphazard.
They slacken our pace as we pass.
The morning song struggles, choked by the fog and fumes in a watery sky.
It echoes sharp across the still surface of the Liffey as she passes slow,
No hurry yet to greet the sea.
She is far from the green hills of her youth as she wends her way in silence
Among a labyrinth of crumbling red brick,
Tarnished with the soot of commerce And the bile of industry.
The people scurry, eyes to the ground,
Dodging their ways along the pavements, the crossings and the bridges.
A city of a million souls and not one yet connected.
The monotonous clack of steel wheel on track as the railway ferries countless more from hinter to heartland,
Their spines bent deep against the weight of life,
Their hearts turned inwards from reality.
(C) Copyright
Stephen A. Duffy – 2015
Words Unbidden 