Work In Progress - Fragment 4
in the autumn sunshine
we found it empty
the answer we knew
was not then discovered
picking through the debris
the day confounded us
until footsteps of memory
reared an opinion
we all entrap pilgrimage
but Bunyan was out
the scenery of passing
caused illusions to falter
the moot hall erupted
the market green stretched
the journey became unsure
the shrine was lost
while groping for themes
a swollen oak bole
a grey moustache appeared
to him a love
interred under a wall
earth and sacrificed flowers
but forever a presence
together on the bench
as the voice ages
the grasp becomes faded
together a moments stillness
sitting with their love
the lowering sun seasons
the reminiscence of ardour
highlighting a true state
her ash his loss
there is no freedom
from the inbred pain
the gravestones are reminding
that day of grief
as the hole consumed
the life of happiness
the remainder of hope
lowered in the dirt
our memories are fragments
used as infill trouve
haphazardly in time's wall
mere odd surface anomalies
meaningless in their structure
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poem by Michael Oliver
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