Tired terraced houses blink
As sunlight threatens,
After the rain.
Cracking concrete pathways succumb to weeds
Through roiling, muddy wounds
And all is good.
The street takes on an aura
All of God,
Sanctified and silent.
Even the cars and people keep away.
Brickwork breathes,
Woodwork slumps
And nature smiles.
Noise and fumes now washed away,
Dank stone and earth sing out their hymns,
A multitude of hopes and scents and memories,
To heal the silent watcher.
I leave the damp and musty bench,
Grateful for the sense of joy.
Heart, mind and soul in chorus, sing
Of school chalk and swimming pools,
Dinner halls and hopscotch,
And what it is to be alive.
The High Street beckons, up ahead
Hustle and bustle and human toil,
But peace cannot leave me.
I have been to the roofless Church.
CLW
3 comments:
I'm not much on poetry. But that was really beautiful. I could feel when the energy was picking up. (or so I think) I did enjoy it Cheryl. thank you for sharing.
Cor. Blush! Thanks Jane :-)
This is a very special poem Cheryl - thank you so much for sharing it with us :-)
I wish I could find "my roofless Church" again. Once upon a time I was in touch with that level of peace. I used to write poems then. It'll come. Thank you for your inspiration :-)
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