Ghosts haunt my avenue.
Lights left-on in deserted houses.
Wind conducts trees to sigh
songs and squeals of lost kids playing,
to change the mood from silence in crescendo.
No one comes on holidays,
to my avenue here anymore.
It's solemn perpetual winter in shutdown.
Beaches are deserted, homeless lonely places,
Sea-pool is glassy, left to local hardy swimmers,
who now have the sway to stay and play with
hermit crabs, and free-range fishes.
It's a time warp back to the 1960's
when nobody knew this avenue existed
and nobody came to enjoy it,
except for hardy locals looking for solitude.
Even these folk, driven-off by the crowds
to lonely avenues elsewhere,
have not made a comeback.
Down my avenue, 'tis an avenue down and out.
-
Author:
John Richard Anderson (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 27th, 2021 00:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
- User favorite of this poem: rebmasters.
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Comments2
Ah love this - a dark & metaphorical journey into the soul & absolutely beautiful 🖤
Thanks for your comment. Cheers and Best Wishes
Wonderful
Thanks sp much for your kind feedback. Cheers and Best Wihes
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