The Old Gate

When sitting for todays poem, things were pretty serious and looking very well. Except I followed my previous path of going where the creative mind took it and thus I knew noithing of where or what this poem would carry the reader to.

Seated here resting a back injury, i carried on and knew nothing of where this would end up. Thus what I would say about this poem to create a little curiosity for reading it? Sorry, I have read it a number of times and it sparks a different interest each time.

About The Poem:

Todays poem has caught me out and I found myself asking, what has this creative mind finished with and took this poem from a route I had expected onto another road of something That left me scratching my head on. This poem starts with a Lady waiting at an old gate for her Lover or the “Knight of her heart”. But the poem never addresses either person in this poem, But asks a number of questions and points that come from a third party.

I Like the little disorder that feels to come from the poem.. In my hope I aimed for people to see the disorder of the whole situation and maybe it was this ladies mind itself that was disordered. But in the end it turned out to be a little interesting for me as the writer. I hope that this continues to the readers also and create this same mind as they read this poem.

It may not be the best that I have created, but letting a creative mind take this on from word to word at random..

Therefore I will not waste any more ime, except for saying;

Having said all of this; Please Enjoy This Poem:

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(( The above Photograph was taken from an outside source and posted here with thanks And Copyrite remains with those who carried out such great work))

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The Old Gate




She stood at the old gate waiting,
For the knight of her heart, Hating
The chilly breeze that stung her face,
Like every day , her steps she would trace.


The mystery that stuck with some,
Thus greeted my mind to become,
A mainstay of thoughts, that covers,
For all starcrossed humble lovers.


Was she a symptom of one lost?
Or a forlorn lover thus crossed?
Was it e’er a memory’s train,
 Reliving long forgotten pain?


That which possessed her daily trail
Freely filled the mysteries tale.
Cast behind troubles, this life brings,
From table of kings to where she sings.


Yet time that fired the fatal shot
Forever caught within this pot.
As age has passed her by to cry,
At the  feet where tales dare deny.

 


  

© Pat Fitzgerald 2025

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ENDING THOUGHTS:

Thank you for following me on my little journey, that is composing or writing poetry. If Life is a journey which we all walk on and my journey in creating Poetry is a journey of it’s own. Which I still learn much on as I write.

At times I experiment on methods or way how I can improve my poetry, therefore getting feedback is always most welcome for such as these.

When I write poetry, some readers may be offended with something within the poetry. I do not write to offend, But such are written for reasons I outline in the posts. Often I miss typos and mistakes when publishing each poem. BUT I correct the moment I discover such mistakes.

But Poetry is a form of art work that I enjoy and thus using it in a manner to touch or inspire the reader.

Thank you for joining me on this journey.

Poetry is a learning curve where I always work to improve. A lot of work goes into editing and reediting and then repeating that process on a number of occasions until I am happy with the result. This is how I operate in creating posts to share here.

Please forgive for any such mistakes and for your understanding this.

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Until Next Time Cheers. 

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