there were lawns manicured like diamonds
sharper than the daggers of revenge
rough hewn at the hands of beggars
a sarabande is danced and executed with exquisite finesse
a hall of mirrors reflect no comfort for the poor
they shape some courtly dance of abundance inside the walls
and a golden chariot is born from the centre of the lake
its fountains play like the fates
but only for the privileged
yet no woman can eclipse her destiny forever
outside a tumbril waits
Flynnpoetry 