Vee Bdosa Poet I do not know?

Notes About The Poem

Another Stairway Pome

Ghosts of Yalta

GHOSTS OF YALTA
From the dark of the light
in the heat of the night
do they know they are bridled to ride
by the four who have known
hope is there, but alone,
in a time hope has no where to hide?

It's been dying the death
of a world out of breath
from our going the distance too long,
when alone is the lake
of our biggest mistake,
when the black of the sea is too strong.

There is nothing we'll see
That will change what will be,
from the fleet given charge of the fall
of the old and the new
what it's now coming to,
in the need for controlling it all.

There is beauty around
but there's nary a sound
of the blessing from time growing old;
not as Red as it was,
but as harsh as its cause,
and the pain of agreement gone cold.

Now the Red of the sea
is it--never should be?
Does the Danube dry up from the West
And just what will it make
but another mistake
from the meeting three minds in their quest?
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

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