Old Mildenhall
Old Mildenhall
Beyond the sprawls
Of sleepy vales,
Behind the stacks
Of woven bales,
Lie the dwellings
Of souls that fall
In the decaying ruins
Of Old Mildenhall.
A mish-mash mosaic
Of glass and stone,
The eerie rubble
Of shattered bone,
Where boarded windows
Entomb and hide
Its ghostly citizens
Still trapped inside.
With doors half open
And eyes half closed,
Grey peering faces,
Half decomposed,
Search empty spaces
For a human shape
Where there are no mortals
Nor means of escape.
Twisted, the fences
That surround each street,
Barbed in shackles
That tether their feet,
Nobody comes
And nobody goes,
Lost in the doldrums
Midst eternal woes.
Your spirits wander
Old Mildenhall,
Between heaven and Earth
And I see you all,
You were in my dreams
When, as a child, I slept,
We swapped our fears
But my soul you kept.
Beyond the sprawls
Of my eiderdown bed
They visit me still
Albeit in my head
Calling me, begging me
To help them die,
But without my soul
I'm just a passersby.
© RJVHorton2015
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