Purgatory

I lie between the sky and the ground, and watch as the world
Continues in its reverie of black and white.
The streetlights become mere blurs and ghostly silhouettes silently
Weave their clouded blindfold.
The walls so often echo words I would rather not hear;
No prayers, no pity, penance.

With my ear to the floor, the cracked cobbles form jigsaws
Which trace and test the creases of my skin.
Mortar serpents constrict like a gritted rope that binds and I find
That my breath is lost.
No tune can I play to my tin-whistle servants that will cast them away,
Nor will the hustle and bustle of city commuters cease,
So that they may notice.