Outside
There is no movement
yet the skies are breathing,
frozen in solitude neglected
flowers look down.
The once bold black iron gates,
rusting from the clouds acidic tears,
there is no beauty here,
just reminders of a forgotten age.
In between the cracks on the moss
covered paving,
the devils fingers creep through,
onwards and upwards,
to the heavens,
bypassing this place,
Even hell rejects this place.
Inside.
The dust cleans itself.
Collapsed books upon the shelf,
sleeping from lack of touch.
A thousand years of verse,
suffocating in the silence of
the house.
A constant drip,
Echo's from room to room,
a reminder that something
still flows though here.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/outside-and-inside/
