Silent Faces
Faces of time that do not tick,
numbered and silent,
they look out at passing lives
reflected in high prices.
I walk past a saviour
fallen in a woman’s arms
the doors of his house
no home to a discarded soul.
Lost like dropped gloves,
thrown butts and fallen leaves.
An invisible face survives,
another night, cold sleep,
card on stone,
as shadows of lives pass by.
Ciaran Burke
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