The Ivy Climbs Abysmal Pt II
The ivy climbs abysmal,
And the walls are worn away,
The stony keep,
On cliffs so steep,
A wanton heap,
With vines that creep,
So garish in the day.
The parapets are crumbling,
And the fortress is defunct,
The king and men,
Sleep in the fen,
A ghostly den,
A sad amen,
For fantasies that flunked.
The heaven’s grey inertia,
And the sea’s phantasmal sigh,
Neath steely skies,
The day’s reprise,
The ivy tries,
To win the prize,
Of ramparts reaching high.
The memories of grandeur,
Are infused into the stone,
The feasts and noise,
The servant boys,
The jester’s toys,
In playful ploys,
The king’s triumphal throne.
The morris dancers dancing,
And the markets in the street,
The hunting crew,
The woods they knew,
The maiden’s shoe,
The rabbit stew,
And falcon flying fleet.
Lost in dreamy decades,
And the prism of the past,
By ocean spray,
Such mad decay,
That yesterday,
Now worlds away,
And now in ivy cast.
The ivy climbs abysmal,
On dilapidated stone,
Beneath the moon,
The birds in croon,
A haunting tune,
A solemn swoon,
As decades die alone.
adamdaniel 