Bryan Deakin

Scottish Poet / Blogger / Community Activist

Stone Junkyard

Walking through this stone junkyard,
Mist around my feet,
Dark sky,
Its night,
Dead trees,
Im alone in this place,

Long black leather jacket trailing,
Along the eerie mist,
I can feel the dirt under my heavy boots,
Dark figure lurking round,
Behind each height of the sculptured stones,
Gargoyles watch, with angels near,
Children and adults alike share one thing,
They share the ground together,
No lights are near,
Besides for the light of the moon,
No sound can be heard, apart from heavy breathing,
Smell the damp on the moss stones.

Envision the memories of this eerie place,
The heartache, the sadness, the grief,
That still does not compare,
To how I feel.

© 2006-2016

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