Clairvoyance
Patterns form, a filigree of knots,
A path retraced through crumbled walls.
Heirs rise from revolution’s tangled thoughts.
While waitstaff serve and tired ambition calls.
I lie on steel, assessing fragile bone,
The fear of heights shakes loose from hollow core.
A panel’s score surprises, still unknown,
And pale hands reach, with pamphlets to explore.
The tired wait, the eager still must bide,
For answers soft that slip through time’s embrace.
Old souls know when to cut the noise aside,
To sever green stems, and slow their steady pace.
In quiet moments, truth cuts through the din,
A voice that speaks when silence settles in.
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh
Thu 13th Nov 2025 23:44
I like that final couplet, Laura.