Over crackling leaves, I walked
Thru ancient ruins. My skin a hot wet
Bath, mid-July in the night of man
Sorrow long set in. I heard
Demons’ laughs echo in this ruined
City of man, which teetered me
Till it started sinking in, just as
Sorrow sinks into the red west
Horizon, its tarrying light
To me my last sunrise disappearing.
For miles I walked
Thru ancient skeletons of Eden’s
Ancient city. ‘Now you are Master,
Living off rusty sips from Eden’s
Ancient fountain, that once thriving
Huge bowl, its big base thrumming
Once watered a weary world
Equally the righteous
Equally those in sin,’
But no more equal will fountain be
Who awaits the call to set all free.
This ancient fountain of ancient Eden
Spires once tall as prospering trees
Now the height of its ancient city ruins.
Still an ancient breeze whispers
And the gargoyles that sit
Upon the spires of the fountain
Crack their cement talons
And fly east, vainly searching for ‘New Eden’

Ancient pipes once tapped the tune
Of life, now spit rust, no more the single
Wonder of the world, it gasps
Its dying breath, full of weariness
And worry, ‘Will he come again,
Or will he leave us dry and empty,
The fountain too, a miserable machine,
much in need of repair
And repair once more will come
From the builder who constructed it
And placed it in its cement pit. For now
it is destined to run dry.
Dry sour intimidation… barren here
in wasted Eden.

Don V Standeford


  1. Wow, how lovely and eloquent! An Eden fountain to be repaired by “the builder who constructed it” …God! In this respect your poem is a heartfelt prayer with a slight reminiscence of T.S. Eliot’s “Waste Land”.

    Liked by 1 person

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