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I remember a time when the city awoke
and seemed new-born, fresh-cleaned and bright
shrouded in ancient mysteries,
and sorrows lay in coffins on the byways
closed and ready for burial.
And we, we held a wake for all that was gone,
and blessed the death of tears.
Truly the city became utopia then.
But outopias[1] are purely imaginary,
our city earned a brief respite from life
no more.
Soon enough the world came rushing in again.
1. Ou-topia, Gr. "no place"
© Dubhóc MacEògainn, 2005.