Gongs,
Chants,
Prayers,
Bells,
All ring in the past of an old temple.
You can still faintly hear it,
If only you listen.
It is still alive,
It seems.
You can almost see the young priests
Walking in the courtyard,
Completing their tasks.
You can almost smell the incense burning,
How sweet and thick the smell.
The temple ghost is still alive in it's heart,
Though faint,
Yet still,
It is there.
YOU ARE READING
Sketches
PoetryPoems that describe a lot of random things in First Person. It's not the best, but I guess it's okay. It has really cool pictures, though.
