Village

 

On this rueful menu

Of sprawls of blanked windows,

The world seems in retreat.

Nowhere is idyllic,

No place remains the same.

Our damp minds shed some tears

Of unknown provenance;

Nothing belongs to us.

The old ones, lying flat,

Unburied, unreplaced,

Stretch out beyond our dreams,

Beyond our memories.

Lost in our foulest mood,

Are we still visible?

◄ Fahrenheit 451

Messiah ►

Comments

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Stephen Gospage

Wed 20th Oct 2021 17:09

Thanks, Nigel and thanks to Holden for the like.

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Nigel Astell

Wed 20th Oct 2021 00:46

Waiting to explode into a brand new day when it comes - - -
we say goodbye to the burdens of too many down trodden paths
great poem.

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