Through The Stained Illusions Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lamppost of blue hallucinations- for
Underneath there, in the street, in a
Cornocopia of penumbras cast
From the church- lies your sisters- they
Are done up like pretty marionettes,
And the oldest one is learning to drive-
In fact she drives everywhere,
Upriver and down river-
But there are no more flowers in their vases,
Nor songs in her heart,
And the fruit market you work in,
And sometimes have to sell your soul,
Is empty- and the paper avenues have gotten
Wet in the mouths of dogs,
But sometimes you still know how well
I cry for you- and through the stained illusions
You have dreamed, I pledge to try and
Believe that you also dream of me.