The Ivy Climbs Abysmal Pt III
The ivy climbs abysmal,
And the car is overgrown,
The nettled claws,
Find rusting doors,
And without pause,
It haunts these shores,
And seeks the wide unknown.
The salt wind swoops and tarries,
In the spaces in the car,
The oxide cakes,
In orange flakes,
The ivy shakes,
As morning breaks,
The sun a blinding star.
The meadows and the hedge rows,
Are a patchwork on the land,
So calm and green,
This luscious scene,
A sacred sheen,
In light pristine,
In prospect of the strand.
The sea in stretching sparkles,
As the ivy takes its toll,
The car’s demise,
Bereaves the eyes,
Below the skies,
Alone it dies,
Upon the sleepy knoll.
The ivy climbs abysmal,
With an appetite for death,
Almost unkind,
The needles find,
A way to wind,
A deadly bind,
A gag to stay the breath.
A tourniquet of torment,
With the vehicle so worn,
The vines a cloak,
Such woe they stoke,
These hands that choke,
These thorns that poke,
An enervating scorn.
The township is unfeeling,
And the corpse is cast away,
This solemn grave,
By ocean wave,
With none to save,
Aye, none so brave,
Such pain in stark display.
adamdaniel 