Silent Prayer

the most vibrant of days
wraps itself in fruitful colour
we make our way through carpeted
displays of heaped leaf fall
kicking tumbles of rusts and ochres
mellow with shapely yellows and
earthy browns between roasted umbers
crisp dry leaves underfoot
the crunchy crackle of autumnal
presence

we pass cracked headstones
clad in green ivy creeping
crosses uprooted and tilted
no weeping from the long lost dead
trees stretch their high reaching heads
into heavenly blue
sun’s rays filtering down
casting shadows stealing light

only the shrill cry overhead
of red kites soaring
masters of the Sunday sky
agile and angled
winging their way through
flimsy whispers of white ghosts
sailing silent on seas over
old England

I find myself in quiet prayer
yes I am praying

Reviews

[Perdition]

This is an eerie, eerie host of lost fog-grown consciousness that wraps you into that faraway unknown, a slow and calculated emotional walk into eyes and ghostly memories of unexplainable apparitions. A talon long worn as the talisman, now thrown into a pond, sending ripples through the spine, like kites and headstones and crosses and yes, prayers too. A beautiful walk...one that pulls you back into a century of reading where that one glance will never suffice. Pinot worthy without a doubt~

[Grace Lee]

Lol I guess i deserve a Pinot from now

[emmajoygreen]

Your words are as perfect as the 'all about' can be. Beautiful words, laid and shared. Many thank yous on what is a chilly, wet and unfriendly morning. You've brightened my mood with such a gentle poem - many thanks, Grace Lee.

[Grace Lee]

YOU ARE MOST WELCOME