The Timeless Hall


Cold hard eyes line the walls
Stern faces set in stone
Ancient judgement weighs down on all
Left from an age ago

No wind or rain has touched the features
Of these sombre stone-carved beings
No marring hand of relentless nature
To scour their faces clean

Tall arched windows set up high
Coated thick with dirt and grime
Let in a gloomy filtered light
To this great hall lost in time

No cobwebs or rodent dens
Grace the corners of this room
As though inside all life ends
In the silence of a tomb

Great bronze doors old and stained
Rest in hinges made of rust
Facing a throne where sit human remains
Bones falling into dust

Outside the walls the years rage
About in an open field
Until one day there will come an age
This Hall to time will finally yield.

©Aarron Mondello

The Last Storyteller

By Aarron Mondello

written 15/1/2018 

There’s an old man silent somewhere
Sitting in his chair
On his tongue rests a tale
From when he was young and fair

Once he built worlds with his voice
To carry young and old
To faraway lands in unknown kingdoms
With the tales that he told

Over the years his voice grew hoarse
And lost its lilting song
No longer were his words quite enough
For an audience to hang upon

In his dotage the fancy took him
To tell his tales to the birds
The echo of elation rushed through him
As he tumbled out his words

Now even the birds have turned away
And fled frigid Winter air
He just mumbles his tales to himself
And audience that isn’t there

©Aarron Mondello