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