The old chains
They are rusted now
Locked in sequence
Trapped in time
While the stoneblocks
Moss covered
Silent mouthed
Save their lies.
The padlocks
Who once were strong
Lay timid
Upon cold ground
The metal cracked
And flaking steel
Surrendered quiet
Without a sound.
Chain fence
Without deterent
Hangs loose
In the wind
As day raises
Its lapels
Fastens buttons
The moment trimmed.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: August 27th, 2026 03:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 51
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Lorenz, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
A most lovely imaged metaphor of age and disrepair. Nicely worded it paints its picture well and is a fave
Thanks my friend, very much appreciated
Good write N. Yep, we're trapped in time waiting for that bus. Now a poem about it. The first line goes: Ohhh, F, F, F, and F! lol.
and a few more fffffffs lol
A somewhat poignant vision of the rust settling and dissolving shapes...
as does life my friend
Norman, what a haunting and atmospheric piece. The old structures remain, but whatever power they once carried is steadily disappearing while the world continues around them. I’ve visited places that hold this same eerie presence...beautifully captured, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
thanks and appreciation my friend
A haunting piece of poetry..wonderfully worded
most kind, thanks and appreciation for read
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