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Urban Decay Slowly descending The spiral staircase Into urban decay On this night long journey - Preceded by flashlight And followed by the full moon, Whose eyes hold us all in His view as the street light Flickers in and out in orange shades.
Spirit of the Past The spirit of the past Lives in The whispers of the wind and The hoot of the hoary owl, Which echoes sadly evermore Against the lonely trees - Who for days uncounted Have seen the endless journeys of men Come to and end beneath them - This final respite Marked by names and dates On lonely tombs.
Ghost Hunting There is a ghost in the shell Of every old place - Whether the unclaimed metal skeleton Of an abandoned steel mill, Or the spirit that lingers On the grounds of a historic graveyard. These ancient places carry The immortal remnants Of old civilization.
Exploring them to Examine their secrets Like an urban archaeologist - Chasing down the answers To urban legends And ghost stories - Simply to know What came before.
Abandoned Factory Once full of life, This old building; With memories locked away Under layers of dust. Cigarette butts and broken beer bottles Litter the lonely lot.
Once vital and active In the world of mortal men, Now immortal in its skeletal frame - The ghost in the shell of the Abandoned factory Speaks secrets of long misused tools, Broken cinder blocks, And locked away rooms - Modern ruins and electric tombs Long left behind On this hidden highway. And evermore in urban legend.
Stomping Ground Traversing the rural fringes Of urban reality, Haunting the spirits With lamps and curious minds.
Marble City I know when you were born and died, But I want to see beyond the moss On your gravestone. Who were you in life?
Old Church
I. Cathedral. I go back in time as I brush webs of dust From the stained glass window, Wondering what secrets this Old church buried with its dead.
II. Esoteric. As stained as memory, This old window yet reflects light Like the sermons once held In the holy hall.
Farewell Party (Leaving the Old Church) The ravens on the roof Stand guard like gargoyles - These grim feathered ghouls Perch atop the once proud passages That they now pretend to own, And sing a sad a cappella In mockery of memory.
To End a Journey I leave as the morning light Lifts the late night's velvet veil And the moon bids farewell To the starry sky, Wondering if warning signs Will be like hieroglyphs To a future age.
Into the Light Walking at the crack of dawn on This early morn, Through fresh cut grass And beside foggy fields, My shoes soaked with dew -
I stop to take a drink And pause to think: This simple heaven's Greater'n That urban hell.
Atalaya Dark watch tower Overlooking the lonely beach Built without blueprint - Summer home sculpted From brick and mortar, Its plans first and solely sketched In the dreams of a genius and poet.
Ordered chaos - artistic anarchy; The sculpture room seems to Summon the spirit Of the poet's late wife - As if the ghost Of the lady sculptor Haunts the mossy halls Just to finish her last work.
Manifest Destiny How wild was the west? How true rang the gold, That men sought and killed For it?
How mighty the steed, And how much mightier The man who rode it And held the law on his hip? How long the roads of those days? How deep the secrets? Would the spirits of Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp Speak to us in the old saloon? |
| Author: Owen Johnston |
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Author Bio:
The above poems were excerpted from the author's online book "Dark Passage". View other online poetry at Johnston Online Poetry, Fiction, Art. Join poetry discussions at the Johnston Karate Online Community - Literature Forum. |
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