I walk down this road with a heavy load,
A lonesome place, with an unholy grace.
Ahead a graveyard stands, with rocks and sand,
A resting place 'tis said, among the dead.
I seek a bit of calm, a healing balm,
'Tis said the dead heals souls, and that's my goal.
I walk among the graves, trying to be brave,
But no succor do I feel, nothing to heal.
This ancient graveyard, calming grace is barred,
Bright moon shows my shadow, 'tis mine I know.
The moon seems to speak, saying all is bleak,
I feel so alone, something I must atone.
Here is where we came, 'ere fortune came to claim,
Thoughts of her fill my head, and this poem unread.
I want to speak loud, but my head is bowed,
Better things left alone, among these ancient stones.
In this place blood was spilt, but not by guilt,
We spilt blood for our love, and morning doves.
Love died here as well, a lonesome death knell,
Why did I return, when 'twas here she spurned?
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
I think you meant to say in that last line, "spurned."
Ron
Love ya!
Jane
Sandie