Generations Of Secrets

The old shovel- rusty and chipped with ware,
Leant against the singed wooden farmhouse door.
Vegetation circling the circumfrance of the land;
Lay demolished on the ground.
Their words linger high in the air.
The atmosphere presenting the untold stories from depths of the lungs of the former forest;
Breathing out generations of secrets.
At present no one dares enterthe farmhouse,
Or walk over the graves that once were.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading and reviewing my poem. I'll happily accept any constructive critism you may have for me, because I'd love to be improving my work. Thank you.

Reviews

[Cool Handless Luke]

I love the imagery here and the crossover feet it has...almost like a dickinson/frost mash-up. this is truly great writing. Not overly consuming in darkness while still keeping that underlying edge to it. I like the progression of your work Becky! Good job!

[Alone In A Crowd]

Thank you so very much, and I'm now beginning to the progression in my own work. Thanks to reading others work of course including your own; and reading reviews.

[Alona Rivika]

I feel the atmosphere the poem gives off. I love its emotion!

[Alone In A Crowd]

Thank you very much.

[PurpleQuartz]

What a wonderful piece. I just love the story in it! Amazing write fellow poet!

[Alone In A Crowd]

Thank you so much.

[Luke Rawlings]

A few spelling mistakes in their but a good write, I love that spectral, haunted feeling that this poem leaves me with. Bravo! :D

[Alone In A Crowd]

Thank you and yeah my spelling is always terrible- but I'm working on it. Thank you for your review.

[Luke Rawlings]

It was a minor blemish on an outstanding piece. I hope your practice goes well, and you are most welcome :)