Where poets once dreamed of angels.

Ghostly shadows chill the bones

memories lie over moss covered stones,

off with his head was all that he said

to the past, a voyage home.

Claw marks scratch the inner walls

dig the open earth, hear nature calls

Swirling echoes in mind in tune

with the spiralling of shadows and ghosts all groomed

their gravity pulls you in...

where poets once dreamed of angels undead

the book is  now closed. 

Reviews

[Poetic Beauty]

The end of the story as a poets life has come to a close

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you PB ….