One can feel 'lost', in the sense of being mentally overwhelmed. The sense of 'loss' of a loved pet, relative or partner. Lost in one's thoughts (a good place to be).
I've never been 'lost' whilst hillwalking. Well let me put that into perspective - I will know where I am on the map, but I may not necessarily be where I ought to be! Sometimes it's rather nice to be 'lost'. To discover somewhere new. To feel that you might be walking on ground where no other being has been. That feeling is very profound in snow...as you are walking on a virgin surface.
My poem today was written on the 1st November 1971. It's about a 'ghost town' where nature has taken over, that mankind has abandoned, where the loss is profound.
Ghost Town
Empty shells of desolate houses.
Crush the crumbling plaster in your hands
And feel the death of a town.
Run your fingers over cold
And rusting iron.
Sense the aging of a life.
A fragment of pottery, a faded picture
Of a long forgotten family.
A door that bears no exit, nor a welcome.
Sightless windows and empty rooms.
Echoes of a family long gone.
Sheep reside within these walls
And moan like demented children
Seeking their guardian mother.
Empty souls, devoid of love,
These shells of houses stand and stare
Looking to the sky as if to seek some solace there.
Look to me (Sweet Earth) and I will
Consume your walls with foxgloves
And other brickwork fauna -
Covering the pathways that once stood the test
Of working boots and rattling bicycles.
They echo now of wind and rain
And forgotten dreams.
Remember in the far, far past
These busy homes with gentle dwellers-
Gone away, taken their possessions and flown.
Do they yet recall their former homes
With grass now overgrown, ivy- congested
And rotting in the silence?
These empty shells -
Silent walls -
Breathe memories.
Kath Curtiss Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
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