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A YORKSHIRE GOTHIC



In a land of silence, I sit

Waiting for nothing

Watching the boiling clouds

Sturdy stones

Dissolving into the moor

My Bones, the twisted trees

My beard, a nest of birds

I am but a jumble of memories

Caught loosely in time

Merging with the forever flowing

That connects land to sky

Razor blade edge

Cutting sweet with no pain upon the stone

River rolling

Forest calling

Meeting the man with no name

All life decays

Back to the bones

Back to the earth

Catching time on fingers broken

In the midnight hour the dead wave to the north wind

Leaves flurry through the boneyards

In a land of silence, I sit


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