All that's left is lonely markers
silent words hardly ever read
where no one talks to their neighbours
centuries old stones at crazy angles
mourners heads bowed and hushed
wraiths moving in the mist
treading carefully amongst dead flowers
where even the poets rest their bones
- to sleep the longest sleep,,,,,
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
All that's left is lonely markers
silent words hardly ever read
where no one talks to their neighbours
centuries old stones at crazy angles
mourners heads bowed and hushed
wraiths moving in the mist
treading carefully amongst dead flowers
where even the poets rest their bones
- to sleep the longest sleep,,,,,