I wonder if they would say you're an elegant Rose
or remain quiet
as they pass under the spiralling branches
of the once ornamental trees
gathered like concerned children
on the edge of a graveyard
many believe there's a devil living inside
that if you look closely
out of the corner of your eye
far away in the distance
there he sits
writing far-fetched tales from his spiky perch
they say a dense crown once sat atop his head
like an unassailable eyrie
now pendulous arms hang down
clothed sharply in triangular dark green
so that he broadly resembles a respectable gentleman
eccentric in a way that makes you stare in disbelief
could it be that this is his deepest secret?
the unmet and unspoken expectations
of a lost and dying world
no longer content to steal the souls of the departed
living relics left behind
like sombre survivors of an earlier time
it is because of this
that they say that the devil is never alone
a thought which has many a monkey
frantically biting its fingernails
always teetering on the seesaw of hope and despair
a bit puzzled and lost in the distant morning haze