Intramuros

March 26, 2009 Words are always inadequate when it comes to beautiful places We only capture memories as best as we can

Pretty moss-grown archways from four centuries ago

Blooms blow across the entrance to where time is always slow

And atop the old stone walls stand the trees who watch us pass:

Those who linger and who walk away on the pavement and the grass

 

Every breeze and every sunbeam, every yellowed leaf that falls

And every drop of blood shed’s in the memories of the walls

All the scenes of forty decades in every stone there is a trace

And once I walk past these walls, they will not forget my face

 

One sunset, all was lonely and the stones were all ears

Just as silent and alive as they had been all the long years

The day was dying once again, and on a stone ledge by a tree

A patch of sunlight shone, breathing in the nearby sea

 

And in the secret twilight, the stars stare down quietly