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
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