The Orphanage #11 By TJ

Secular and sacred,

empty remains

stands the halls for welcome.

Unleashed primal forces

heeds warning

thunder rolls

realization

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.

Abandoned

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.

By TJ

Writing and poetry...