Abandoned Village

Below me, grey waves break, As brittle slates scooped up From cavernous seas And I the village doomed to wait Alone for company. My dream's low steeple stands Empty as abandoned faith, My bells forever silent. My brickwork crumbling like a skin disease, My roofs exposing battens, beams. My gardens overgrown with brambles, weeds. My school of learning now a tenement For rats and spiders and invasive gulls, Its playground void of laughter and wild games. The old slate quarry, now a monument To the onset of dementia, Its flooded tunnels, its rusted cogs and rails Its broken driving belts bear testament To the exhaustion of ideas, ideals. I am that skeleton stretched out, Exposed to dry, being Of nondescript antiquity. Visitors may come but they are few Who briefly glance at plaques of history And shake their heads as if in sorrow, Reminded of their own tomorrow, Before they picnic by the slated walls.