I Walk, This Day, This Haunted Land

Alan .S. Jeeves

I walk, this day, this haunted land

(Not far off, Mancunian city walls)

'Neath my feet sprawls peaty sand ~

Overhead as evening falls,

The ghostly voice of children's calls.

 

This land, taciturn, calm and still,

A sombre place to garner thought;

A meditation of past ill ~

All the anguish time has brought ~

The mighty horrors, ever fraught.

 

Evoking days of deadly deeds,

Wicked sins of heretofore;

The ghostly voice of innocence pleads

You salute what happened, evermore,

Here in nineteen sixty four.

 

Infant souls, half concealed,

Ne'er forgotten over time;

Three were found below this field

Buried under peat and lime ~

Reposing 'midst the moorland grime.

 

He walks, this day, this haunted land

(Not far off, Mancunia's city near)

He romps with others hand in hand ~

But spare a thought and weep a tear

For a lonely boy who still lies here. 

 

                                     ASJ 

 

  • Author: ASJ (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 19th, 2020 04:47
  • Comment from author about the poem: The moorland where I live here in Yorkshire is well known for its beauty and unforgiving remoteness. A part of the moor, known as Shiny Brook, has become notorious as the place where 'moors murderer' Ian Brady buried victims of his 1964 atrocities. One of the children abducted and killed by Brady still reposes out there somewhere, Keith Bennett then aged 12, has never been found to this day. I remember well the events of 1964 and the mammoth police investigation that took place on my doorstep. I spend lots of time out on the moor and its loneliness is a poignant reminder of the events that took place there all those years ago.
  • Category: Sad
  • Views: 101
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