The view from Walford’s Gibbet

Once 'anged, my gaze fixed. 
Emotionless, my ‘umanity decayed,
As Death announced my demise,
To the birds and beasts
Of these ‘ere sessile oak surrounds -
To clear the tenderness
From my bones. 
But I still linger ‘ere,
An ethereal presence
Surveying so-called progress...

I 'ave seen many a scene
From atop this ghostly gibbet,
I 'ave 'eard such words as poets doth say
Betwixt their paths of righteousness... 
I 'ave watched o'er the boving rutting stags
Each year as they come to roar... 
Watched the light fall on dappled 'orses
Their riders cloaked in red
Shielding their bloodied 'ands from view...

But this latest scene I gaze upon in awe
Such scale, such audacity,
Their gibbets be almost 10 times higher
‘an mine!
I do not know with what they build
Or 'ow, or why,
But the light, the light each night
It burns with such intensity
I can barely see the stars.
Oh what 'as man become
That ‘e obliterates the skies so!
Is ‘e so wise as to forget
The landscape that's in ‘is hands?

The walkers that pass this way of late
Call it 'inkley C,
I do not know what that may be
I just knows ‘t will be
Like this ‘ere gibbet one day,
Something that people walk past
Without batting an eyelid.
Except those ‘oo 've 'eard my tale,
Or 'eard the sound of the rut
And the crunch of the oak-leaves
Each Autumn;
I put my faith in them, 
Them who're minded of more romantic times
When people were 'ung
For their actions
Their passions,
Crimes.

The moon rises each night,
Regardless, 
As I gaze out from ‘ollowed eyes, 
‘umanity? Decayed. 



A Wensley
12.03.2023