Poetry Friday

Here's my first attempt at poetry Friay. There's certainly no rhyme, there might be a hint of meter. This is just some poetic-like musings that come to mind as I often pass this old barn on the road. Sometimes words want to get out, even if they aren't perfect.


Rotting shell of yesteryear,
Swathed in lacy green.

Winding bough seeking light,
Peeks through aged door.

Knotty branches reach for sun.
Timber shrinks to dust.

Place of birth and solemn grave,
Unlikely partners bond.

A union
Equally morbid and brilliant.

Existence
Fleeting yet endless.

Lending ever-present mind
To our own futile days.


Christy

Gee, I'm so darn perky and cheerful, I can hardly stand it! ;0P