Poem 33 – The Mother of time.

Spinning,
We spin,
History spins with us,
The past of special memories,
And of nightmares,
The present on going,
Changing for the future,
For the future is unknown,
And yet to come.

Stone walls stand for generations,
They were clean and new once,
Slowly the earth made them dirty,
Bid leave for moss to grow,
For ivy to wind its ropes around them,
And the rains to corrode,
To crack then to crumble,
Tumble the walls come falling down,

We rebuild,
We repair and ressurect what once was,
We go on,
Trains fluttering by,
Cars for miles around,
Light fixtures,
And construction hacking into the ground,
But the rains still fall,
The wind it howls,
The ivy grows ever more so,
And the moss resides,

Once upon a time in this parking lot,
Great battles were fought,
A king crashed,
Knights howled,
Vikings roared their cry,
Men and boys died,
Women,
The earth knows it to be true,

She doesn’t speak,
Only acting,
Growing and taking back what she had given,
She remembers the wars,
The births,
The miracles,
The extinctions,
While we remember nothing,
Only stories,
Only history told by man,

No matter what was,
What is,
And what will be,
She spins on with or without us,
One day she’ll be alone,

If we could talk to her,
Our mother,
What would we say?,
Sorry mum,
Things go a bit out of hand,
I’ll go tidy my room and make peace with everyone in the land.

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