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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GHOSTS OF THE PAST, by                    
First Line: Meadows and streams
Last Line: "of ""never more!"
Subject(s): Death; Ghosts; Shadows; Supernatural; Dead, The


Meadows and streams
The morn sun kissed,
Night has enveloped
In shadowy mist.
With neither time
Nor space to reckon,
Ghostly figures
Seem to beckon.

Like smouldering campfires
Long since dead,
The graying mist
Circles overhead
Phantom shadows
Their vigil keep
Over the land
Of bittersweet.

'Tis years since the
Red men roamed, at will,
The golden meadow
And wooded hill.
Yet, through the fog,
I seem to discern
A chieftain's face,
Noble and stern.

With eyes that search
My very soul,
He seems to question
The white man's goal.
Softly, a zephyr
Whispers "Hush!
Answer him not,
For fear you blush."

Chained to a life
Of daily stress,
Is this the thing
Men call success?
To justify
The demon greed,
In virtue, give him
The garb of need.

Ah, mystic eyes
That pierce the night,
I wonder not
You question the right
Of such as these,
Who would replace
Honor, over a
Primitive race.

As though a part
Of some weird dream,
A birch canoe
Glides down the stream.
The waters rippling
Back to shore,
Whisper their echoes,
Of "never more!"





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