Petrified Forest

A petrified forest, where trees have turned stone,
lies outside my window, in fields overgrown.
Enclosed in its gates made of iron and stone.

I gazed ore the land that is seasoned with death,
and pondered the lives that its offspring had left.
To stand there for time, and for time to forget.

Engraved on each tree is a name and a date,
for authors and poets who write in their place,
of nightmares and dreams that are haunting this place.


This is an attempt at anapestic meter. There is obviously iambic in the first foot of each line. It's not straight across the board, but for the most part that was the aim. The subject matter is also a metaphor. Trying to link a petrified forest to that of a graveyard. Making the connection of family trees with real trees and the family trees becoming “petrified” in burial with the addition of tombstones. Have at it.