The Orphanage #11 By TJ

Secular and sacred,
empty remains
stands the halls for welcome.
Unleashed primal forces
heeds warning
thunder rolls
comes in flashes of light.
Avoid involvement
whispers the winds,
years of silence and grayness
drifts upward like smoke.
The chill is the remains
of a small society
with all its secrets,
pretense and complexity.
The cracks
seen in the foundations
are the remains of bitterness.
is the crys and stolen promises
from behind locked
doors and windows.
Heed the chatter
of the approached bridge
and the river down the steep cliff
that drags itself over rocks.
The orphans recover
in a distant place
up rooted like strange flowers.
leaving behind these shadows.


Orion said...

TJ - you are bloody brilliant! This is grand :-) And what ARE the chances that we'd click "publish" at the same time...this is a lovely interpretation of the picture...orphans, indeed!

Orion said...
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TJ said...

Thanx Meg...laughing.
I started with the frame of mind "I see Dead People and ended with Orphans"...
oh the many twists of the mind

Tammy said...

Hauntingly beautiful! I thought of my old catholic high school.


Nancy said...

Wow....that was incredible. Your words are gifts.