Dissolution

 

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

 

The Holy Well

 

 

The Holy Well

 

Within the small redoubt of ancient gods,

there is a sacred spring,

surrounded by a ring of stones,

whose time-worn face 

peers through the thinnest veil.

Its water is the wonder of another world,

whose unfurled flag reveals

three swirling eddies,

which celebrate fluidity of form, 

And from the well

a subtle voice proclaims:

I am snowflake symmetry.

I am a frozen stream.

I am a raging torrent.

I am a flood.

I am steam rising from the cauldron.

I am a cloak of druid-mist.

I am the true trinity of one.

 

John Walter Taylor

© All rights reserved

15 April 2024