The City

Tall trees stand

as organic tributes to a bucolic passing,

bovine sculptures in a concrete age.

Steel car-pods shuttle,

sub-routines of a wired world,

and wailing sirens demand attention,

like spoilt brats in a mad kindergarten.

This is a city where

all heads turn in expectation

towards any bloodied scene unfolding,

where the individuals theory of immortality

is never discredited, in one’s own lifetime.

Constantly we are nurtured, by the self medication

of creation and recreation.

This city, is just a tottering pile of coloured bricks,

in the hands of a self-centred child.

                                                                                                © niall oconnor 2014