this place is poetry

Old and run down
the heart that has written
windows boarded
"no trespassing" reads.
So many secrets held inside
only a few may know.
Rod iron fences
keep out the hurtful
beauty and mystery
The sun sets on your west
a wall of corroding red bricks
grass grows sporadically high
you appeal to me
curiosity and romance
stirred within
these haunted eyes.
I want to go inside.
I want to get lost in you
imagining those that
wrote here before.
The rotten, the wicked, the lonely
the shamed,
the beautiful, the loving
I want to imagine them
and all their impact
I want to lie in your sporadically
growing grass,
and read your secrets.