Walking With Sorrow

I walk with sorrow and hear the distant noise of crows and mourning doves, in the wet mist nature's breath rises slowly from the forest floor, along a path covered by fallen leaves my hands resting on the cold layered stones, of a wall built by slaves stretches for miles their agony releases in mumbled tones, in my mind as I pass in silence the crunching sound of each step I take feels like an intrusion into a time I can't understand trees rotting, some crushed the wall where they fell, bring a feeling of anguish to the scene a coat of terror worn by shadowed death, from the time of whips and chains ghostly figures haunt this place appearing and disappearing over time floating in the mist, as though still pulling rocks from the ground their fingers covered in blood, staining each one as they pile one upon another, while the walls grew taller now crumbled ruins, lost to memory only crows and doves stand guard here now their haunting sounds cascading over stones crying out in sorrow from a time beyond my comprehension 12/26/13