Deconsecrated, inevitably 'haunted'
This ex-Church shorn of dignity
Whose stone is soaked in prayer
Stands forsaken in its field;
A laughing stock among the villagers
Whose descendants walked a weekly pilgrimage
On a well worn path to its open door
Seeking succour and assurances
That hardship would be rewarded
But whose rotted corpses
Are visited but once a generation
By Daredevil schoolchildren
Irreverent spirits on their own pilgrimage
Buoyed by bravado
Nervous of the paranormal
With not a thought for the former Land Lord.

Our bed, a family fortress.
Your mother and I
- Puppet King and Puppet Queen -
Surrender our thrones each night
Lowering the drawbridge,
An open invite to you junior marauders,
Swordless and wordless
As you slowly storm the ramparts,
Kicking and flailing,
Before you fall asleep between us.

Buzz of costly light hurts
Pockmarked rocky currency
Buys a quiet night

Words floating in the ether
Tied to a copper wire tether:
An outlet for an outlet.

These online wordshapes composed offline,
Composed in haste and left unedited,
Are but a proxy for real-world emotions.

Shall I 'Tweet' and forget in shame?
Or 'Delete' to burst these floating words?