There... stands an ebony Shire horse

regal in polished brass refinery

his livery of soft brown leather blinkered,

denies the silvery gems

carried away by  Jackdaws' in flight...

 

and in his shadow, a man of a million memories

stands at ease by a window

marred by perspex and a thousand squares 

each corner ingrained with coal, reflecting eyes

that see too much, brimming with unshed pain

yet he will not cry,  he cannot cry,  not here...

 

and here sits a man in quiet contemplation

hands bound in satin

whose faith, whose status demands loyalty and trust

in that all his needs will be met to fulfill his spiritual duty.

Surrounded by columns of pleasing colour

in forms he finds distasteful

questions why they are here.