Sweet Irony,
Hits my tangled troubles, and frees this
Blade
From the stranding line
Cynically slides,
Through dusty gemstone,
To offer a soft respite to my ethereal
Plagues
Let me cover with silence,
The figures around me:
A velvety sigh on the noisy stammering
Grow to a physical essence,
And heavily walk on this living mosaic
Called pain
I can hear the breath of every dowel:
My demons are waiting
Conceal this fool architecture
From my (singing) conviction
Blind my cyclopian, trifling dreads
And dethrone the useless days
From my infested eyes
Irony, my care