Buried By Time
In the wet fog of morning
the forest has hidden secrets
where bare limbs of Autumn hang through the mist
A crow calls out as if to say, look closer
A stone wall built by men in chains
A slave wall, stone upon stone, flat uneven edges
wrestled from the ground where it stands
Too many stones to count, wrapped in brambles
I hear the cry of torment, from the past
I hear the crack of a whip, the unsympathetic voice
that cared little if these men lived or died
The crow calls out as if a spirit
before it leaves the bare limbs to vanish in the fog
and I stand stunned in a deep dark sadness
from an unsettled emotion
where I see apparitions of men in chains
with their pain of never understanding why
My head drops as I whisper "Nor do I"
10/2/20
contest A Wall in the Woods
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