There is a ceaseless moaning here
Under these broken stones
Years ferment to mystery
The ghosts and ancient bone
Still there is a purple green
A shadow in the trees
Where there is a moss that knows
Praying beyond the seas
There teases a winding path
Which never will be found
Whispers while we're sleeping
A timeless chanting sound
It is an unending quest
To bloody temple stone
To battlefields and sacred plant
To the only way home
History is a haunting hymn
A journey of the soul
Not linear or listed
Nor gated behind toll
Our ancestors still sing to us
Our spine recalls the tail
Thankfully half blind to it
So gods can walk the trail
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Author:
Quemis (
Offline) - Published: March 9th, 2020 10:08
- Comment from author about the poem: History
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
Offline)
Comments3
Awesome bit of poetry. Totally resonate with this.
Thanks a ton fellow saxon!
See you in the shield wall.
; )
Omg! Do you re enact?
2 more comments
Good write Quemis, may that trail lead us all to peace.
Andy
Thanks so much andy!! : )
I loved this. It has a lot of layers. I need to reread
High praise!
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