Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 21
The oversized doors made from panels of oak
From somewhere behind open heavy and slow,
for another akin
The creak of the wood as they let themselves in

Disturbing the hallowed and candlelit quiet
Turning the heads of the practicing pious
We are shook from a dream
By the rushing of wind through this place of esteem
Written by
Daniel  30/M/Ireland
(30/M/Ireland)   
  330
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems