I, the Intruder
In Italy, I walked along Pompeii:
an eeriness exudes each house and street
(although those crumbling structures had been fine,
lived in and loved by those who'd died that day);
the ground still trodden by so many feet...
like mine.
I wondered, 'Is it right to visit here,
to peer in places where they'd sleep and dine?'
The people felt so close as though we'd meet;
what would they think of me, a sightseer?
Their shrine!
written 20th October for Sara's curtal sonnet contest
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
