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A Gandeur of Skeletons

a grandeur of skeletons old poets stroll again among the trees. they seek the perfect word like the lost chord, or the fountain of youth. stillness waits for footsteps sound there are none to intrude. old poets of light and shadow search beyond mortality. forever in November all that means to haunt will rise in silent throng to go about the unfinished business of life.

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Silent One

Date: 9/28/2017 9:14:00 AM

This is a deep write that moves the reader.. profound write..

Patricia Cresswell
Date: 9/28/2017 1:27:00 PM

Thank you Silent One. I wrote this because I am always looking for that perfect word which will give the perfect description.

Maureen Mcgreavy

Date: 9/28/2017 9:03:00 AM

A haunting quality, your words slide in like breath. Wonderful pen :) xomo

Patricia Cresswell
Date: 9/28/2017 9:14:00 AM

November just sets that mood for me. It is naked before the gods. so even wraiths find it hard to elude visibility. Thank you Maureen.

Russell Sivey

Date: 9/28/2017 4:29:00 AM

You write such deep writes my friend, I love that, incredible! This poem feels so real, I was creeping out! I really loved reading this illustrious piece this morning! What a remarkable poem, Great Work!!

Old Man Emu

Date: 9/28/2017 12:39:00 AM

This is a great write Patricia, made me feel a bit melancholy for some reason, indeed the perfect world is as you described, a lost chord or fountain of youth. Who wants that anyway. Regards, Craig

Patricia Cresswell
Date: 9/28/2017 12:48:00 AM

Craig funny you should say melancholy. When I was writing the poem every thing was grey in the picture in my mind. Thanks for pointing it out.