Crescent

Wrought-iron sentinels
stand side by side,
connected throughout
but for a yawning divide.

Ancient oaks flourish,
their roots grown through cleaves.
The electric rails’ current
moves ‘neath a quilt of leaves.

The archaic and modern
with one another stand
on this soggy crescent-
a sacred and debauched land.

Crescent

Another entry for my personal observation of National Poetry Month in which I will write as much as I can and post as often as I can. I know rhyming poetry isn’t as highly considered as it once was, and it is more difficult to write a good rhyming poem, but I tried to write it without the rhyme and it happened naturally, so I went with it. And no the rhyme scheme is not the same throughout. Enjoy.

Crescent

Wrought-iron sentinals
stand side by side,
connected throughout
but for a yawning divide.

Ancient oaks flourish,
their roots grown through cleaves.
The electric rails’ current
moves ‘neath a quilt of leaves.

The archaic and modern
with one another stand

on this soggy crescent-
a sacred and debauched land.