Ancient Walls, Decrepit Soul
Decrepit Poetry Contest by Constance La France
1st Place
The sad sun, a tired sight, no longer gleams
On the old bones, where life once brightly burned.
A quiet fall now haunts neglected dreams,
And each active color to trash has turned.
The beams all groan, an unhappy, deep sigh,
As garbage eats the tree logs, mild and deep.
A window shade of ruin meets the eye,
Where quiet dimness lasting lookout keep.
No delight stays in cabins dark and cold,
Without sound stirs where chuckle used to play.
A worn story, in vanished lines unfolds,
What once was tough now yields to slow decay.
A decrepit frame, once majestic, proud,
Now echoes secrets to the sacred shroud.
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