Author Information
Echoes of the Past
Folder:
Darkness Echoes of the Past
The grass is damp,
between my toes,
I pull my woolen cape tighter
around my neck to ward off
the midnight chill,
that crawls on misty fingers
over the old wooden bridge
under the black wrought iron gate
that guards the entrance
to the resting place
of many of my people
towards me to engulf me.
I can not read the names
on the old crumbing marble markers,
that many years ago were sharp and new.
The chill has caused my eyes
to tear in defense-
or is it a memory drawing me back
to a distant time or place
to receive a message.
I need to hear?
Even with the damp mossy undergrowth,
the dense fog and the chill night air,
I feel a sense of peace
of belonging in this place,
the realm of the sleeping.
Echoes of the past
spirits in a mist dark sinister thoughts swirling around me and the stones. Tell stories
Copyright Jeanne Brickman
