The Desolate City
by Shannon Winestone
My spirit drifts into a desolate city,
That is broken, having no walls.
No children play in its streets.
There is none left to pity,
And nothing more to feel.
The agora’s immersed in gloom.
The homes are draped in solitude.
Dust and cobwebs adorn their rooms,
That no more resound with laughter’s peals,
Or the sweet notes of a song.
Alas, all joy is gone!
It has sunk into an abyss of sorrow,
And into it, my soul has fallen.
That is broken, having no walls.
No children play in its streets.
There is none left to pity,
And nothing more to feel.
The agora’s immersed in gloom.
The homes are draped in solitude.
Dust and cobwebs adorn their rooms,
That no more resound with laughter’s peals,
Or the sweet notes of a song.
Alas, all joy is gone!
It has sunk into an abyss of sorrow,
And into it, my soul has fallen.
Shannon Winestone is an aspiring poet based in New England. She strives to write verse that is uniformly beautiful, blending ancient with modern and speaking to the human condition. Shannon’s other interests include baking, classical literature, drawing, graphic design, theology, psychology, and governance.