There are many sensuous delights in this mansion

People take photos in the dark

For magazines that don’t get published

They tell tales to walls and chandeliers

Laughing at their own jokes

All are blind to each other

No one sees the other

I can not take a deep breath

Smaller and smaller I grow

‘To the back door’ he whispers,

We dance our way over, incognito, 

and slide the door shut behind us

The night air rushes into my lungs

Noisy streets and colored lights surround us

Many journeys are taking place on the busy highway

‘This is not my fathers house’ I say 

‘It’s a house of smoke and mirrors’

A facade, a fallacy, an illusion

The seats on this balcony are empty, never used, never to be sat on

For once you leave the darkness

You only ever follow the sun

It dawns brilliantly over the horizon






Graham Hill