Monday, 11 April 2011

Old Country March

The dead have left Glastonbury.

Stone faces proud and brave

Above the abbey archways

Have lost their memory

But smile euphoric

Like an old drunken beauty

Above her ruined body of walls.

A short road

Took all day to walk.

We hoped to find

Around the next corner

Graves of men and women

Who were born and lived and died.

But only found a sign

Saying an ancient king

May be buried here.

I knelt to touch iron cats

Waiting to scrape boots at a doorway

Needing something to follow me home.

The sun a high and golden crown

Seeing everything, again

Made me think I should feel warm

But I didn't, it was cold.

Outdoors caving us in, we climbed.

I battle to find an easier path

And the sky line is long

But I see nothing

But land bitten and sucked dry

By tribes who want too much.

I turned away

And wondered instead

Of the story you'll tell me

When you come down.

And I see that we are

A bigger place than this.


No comments:

Post a Comment