doves-foot flowers in the walls
a creeping petalled caress
bracken rooted brick and mortar
letting go its grip where
splintered windows yawn
their silent decaying scream
born of melancholy skies
abandoned, left to the rain
like the aberrated mortals
this mizzle covered carcass used to contain
and a sign points the way to the dead
where their freshly laundered souls
can be collected, as they wander
trailing spectral fingers through rip-gut brome
unsure of what to do
now that distempers’ veils are gone
paulhp poetry 