The ghost of another Southern time, still speak to me in the night….
Inhumanity Doeth As It Please
Silhouettes glide silent by the river wide and deep.
Old bones mix of mortar lay way by River Street.
Cobblestones red stained clatter, click to clack.
Trolling spirits crowd the cotton exchange’s solemn track.
Yellow jasmine creeps long legged along Bonaventure’s swinging gate.
Where both hallowed and desecrated alike gather together in redemptions wait.
The Steamships horn bellows; stately statesmen are dressed in white,
Regrettable children of a lesser grace weep openly into the night.
Carriages with ladies dressed in their Sunday best line the city square.
Crowds of onlookers gather in anticipation of this evening’s evil fair.
The Auctioneers cry; gives lament of desperation now on Market Street.
Dark brooding eyes scan the crowd as humanity is lulled into a fretful sleep.
A lone gull cries by the rivers edge…Spanish moss wafts in the breeze.
Darkness gathers; hope remains years away and inhumanity doeth as it please.
J. Allen Wilson ©
FOUR TWO-THOUSAND & SEVEN
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EXELLENT poetry! Your talent has always amazed me!
Many blessings,
~Linda
Blessings,
Joyce Bowling
Happy Easter,
Eileem