The gates are rusted
Ivy grows
Peeping out
Between metal toes
The opening hours
Upon a dirty plaque
Lopsided
Like the caretakers hat.
When twilight arrives
The old church creaks
Granite blocks
Scuttling feet
The weather vane
Sits up high
Blending into
The darkening sky.
The trees appear
To close ranks
Glistening marble
Overgrown banks
Each angel gravestone
In day looks down
Appears to stare
All around.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: April 11th, 2025 00:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
Offline)
Comments5
A lovely write if the angels were looking down they are probably wondering what is going on, enjoyed the read
many thanks, appreciated
You are very welcome
There is something quite specific when one visits older parts of a graveyard. Many histories linger there, an eerie haunted echo accompanied this piece!
very kind, many thanks
Haunting and well depicted in images the meter with short lines was rapid as if running through this place in fear. Well done
appreciated kind comments, thanking you
Always loved a good cemetery visit. Hence poems about graveyards 🪦 can be particularly interesting, it’s like a direct line and link to the past; a sort of time machine of the mind and awareness.🙏🏻🕊
thanking you
Most welcome 🙏🏻🕊
Excellent write
appreciated, thanks
You're welcome
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