The Abandoned House

 The house lies abandoned,

neglected it stands;

no one to remember

its glory once so grand.

The gardens and orchards

that stood to surround,

bursting with colour

and fruits to abound;

now desolate and bare,

in silence do stand;

ashamed to lie barren

with acres of land.

And the ivy does creep

without much inhibition,

on walls with peeling plaster

for a brazen exhibition.

Devoid of all shutters

with broken window- panes,

the rooms do reveal

their neglect with much shame.

And spiders dare enter

when men choose to leave,

with care and precision

their webs they then weave.

Much dust does settle

when footsteps refrain

to walk on these grounds,

now silent in pain.

The Cemetery

When man with breath does part his way,

a tryst with death to coincide;

with open portals I become

a welcome haven to reside.

Much comfort do they seem to find

when in my womb they sleep;

unaware of those  around

unconscious in exhaustion deep.

Wealth and riches seem irrelevant,

their presence I discount;

all my guests lie deep beneath

the soft brown earth in caskets mount.

A plaque or two is all that marks

their identity to decide;

angels cast in stone preferred,

with the Holy Cross by the side.

Silence deep I have to offer

to those that come and go;

offering prayers to the ones they lost,

with flowers in candle glow.

A silent witness mute I stand,

man’s transient life to recall;

while slabs of stone in number rise

my entity to install.