The new estateA Poem by BeccyThe bricks pile, angled in certain shadows; whilst in stark contrasted trees, crows squabble, vying for what little space remains, as pale twilight searches for redundant and recently departed ancient oaks. There is bustle, where once only meadow grass rose to greet the day; muddied boots with no regard, tread purposeful, the throb and thrum of machines usurping the dawn chorus, suborning all sound, save the tinkle of coin, the distribution of dividend. Soon, a grey concrete snake winds from door to door; a substitute, pale in comparison to the once gentle flow of a crystal clear stream; and beneath the hum of complacent domesticity, there is the rustle of grass composing a song in bittersweet memory. Here and there, as the settlement grows, a faint glow shines behind closed curtains; reaching for salvation, as outside, standing in new formed rank and file, the guttered street lights reflect on what once was, and there is both agony and ecstasy in the knowledge that so-called progress is as inevitable as time and tide. One day of course, in the natural order of things the grey concrete snake will shed it's fragile skin, street lights will lose their glow and ancient oaks will rise from the ashes of our folly; and it will come to be, that those bricks, angled in certain shadows, will return to the dust from whence they came.
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19 Reviews Added on March 31, 2020 Last Updated on April 2, 2020 AuthorBeccyUnited KingdomAboutI'm forty four, single and have a lovely fifteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and real.. more..Writing
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