Dissolution
Settling on forsaken walls,
four hooded crows survey the roofless void,
and fix upon on a pointless arch,
that forms an unmeant testament to greed.
On the ground, unwelcome weeds
lay claim to cracks between the tiles,
once worn by footsteps of the black-cowled friars.
Among the shards of sun-fired scenes,
unleaded lips remain
to speak of order lost to disrepair,
and, on the wind,
they sing the compline prayer
to remind us of the coming night,
while a noiseless death knell
rings in the silence.
John
Walter Taylor
© All
rights reserved
20 April 2024
