I stood there brooding Over the corroded iron fencing; The succinct display of the world, A sign of inevitability,growing old. The sprawling meadows of emerald bay, Once hosting the tiny blades of hay, Once trodden by the frolicking children's boots Now stood there a castle, no owls to hoot, No dogs to drool,nothing stays there But a towering silhoutte of a shadow Of the building,over the abandoned meadow. The pond along the steep slope, That housed me in moments of grief, In which I dip my slim fingers To feel the tickle of coldness And find my tears evaporate away, Is but a moribund ruin,but a wilderness. The way of the world, in fact,is growing, Into a mature plant from a nimble sapling, A plant watered by the blood Sucked out from their own pores While to death they bled, Behind their wrecked doors. The world is aging #theworldischanging #beautycompromised
