The rains fell
like they were feeling
the whole world's pain.
Mourning
in the only way
they knew,
grounding themselves
as if in praise.
The sky drained of
its usual midnight blue,
into its funeral costume.
The dark charcoal
strains of agony.
And the pipe organ played
in a rolling rumble.
A sombre dirge, as mourners
stared at feet as if
the floor itself would crumble.
Across the land the bells rang.
Sad expressions cast
like shadows creeping over faces,
to mark the passing,
the last gasp of sleeps one saviour.
The watchman was dead,
no heirs to pass the torch on.
Such a strange sight.
A man-sized coffin.
It feels wrong
that someone so mighty,
was so slight,
and as the night echoed on
those moans intoned
with the stones on the ground.
The grizzled growls
of beasts on the prowl.
"Best get this over with
It's too late to be out."
Thanks for reading
Please take a few moments
to check out my new book "Poetic Outlaw"
available from Amazon
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CVQ5F9K8/
No comments:
Post a Comment