Village People
Village People
It is a quiet place now
Remains of low built houses
Mostly of stone, collapsed, ruins
Walls leaning, broken jagged openings
Cloth lays around as if to protect the ground or blows like tumble weed
A thin grey dog searches the stones, startled then ignored by us continues
My footsteps sound loud, hollow, crunching the rock beneath boots
But I cannot do more damage, it is already done
Signs remain, cooking fires, pots, traces of basket woven by hands of another time
It feels like I walk in a painting, almost surreal in extreme
Tense, alert, watching, taking all detail so tiny so minute
My dog is the same, she walks with quiet demeanor
Canine respect maybe, aware of our trespass
We hope to find life, there is none, it deserted this place
All that remains is furniture broken like the skeletons of creatures
Evidence that this was a home, stored in these places must be memories of thousands
Until this happened, sudden, unexplained, unjustified
Bringing an uncaring world to their homes
But there are no village people
It is a quiet place now
2007
Copyright © Graham Bentley | Year Posted 2022
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