A racing horse and rider, alongside a steam engine on rails over vast plains
Wind blowing free over prairie, a dream in memory indelible blurred stains
For memories fade with time, black and white to gray
The gun he wore at his side today has evaporated away
Car keys take the place of reigns on asphalt rails
Eighteen wheelers instead of trains, dead their tales
Where cattle once grazed a young couple waters their lawn
With a raising sun, ghosts of the past are now gone
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: July 4th, 2026 00:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 74
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, Syd, soheil khodaparasti, Tristan Robert Lange, RSM0812
- In collections: memories, Nostalgia.
Offline)
Comments14
Yes, the past has surely gone, and like the gun, evaporated away.
The rise in human population is frightning, space is running out, animals are testimony to that.
Prime land is king now, and they don't care what land it is.
Thank you Paul for reading this piece of my past memory. Enchanted with the still existent but dying out steam engines and Brazilian cowboys that rode the plains and carried their six shooters into small rural towns when I first came to the country in 1970 I was moved to write this. It made me feel old.
Time sure has moved on.
I like this poem imagery is very deep, and very relatable. I also like how it makes me think the everyday objects can remind me of something that happened in the past.
Thank you so much for your read and comment it is deeply appreciated and I hope that those memories that come are good ones.
much enjoyed my friend
Thank you so much Norman for the read and comment it is most valued my friend
most welcome
Hi Sorenbarret. I feel like I can relate to this piece. Very well written 👏
- Syd 🍄
Thank you so much Syd your read is most appreciated and likewise your supportive comment
The country used to feel so much bigger than. And funny how the peopleness and community can feel more distanced in the ever-growing urban density. 🙏🕊️
Thanks so much my friend yes that is one of the reasons that I retreat to the country.
Yeah, we hardly go to town if we can avoid it. It's too stressful these days. 🙏🕊️
I feel you my friend
As memory and history fade, they leave behind more than absence—they reshape the lives that follow.
Thank you Soheil for your read of this memory of a past that I hold dear that has faded away and melted into another day.
You are welcome.
Good write SB.
Thank you my friend for your review and kind words
Nicely written. Your poem focuses on the fading memories of a time when horses, trains, and the vast American plains defined life, contrasting this with contemporary imagery of cars, highways, and suburban life. You highlight the transition from a rugged, adventurous past to a more mundane, settled present.
Thank you my friend you are so right times have changed but stress remains in any time.
A fine Poem on the Passage of time and the way it shapes our life's. On the 250th Birthday of the U.S , it tells of the journey that has been made . From Wagons to Automobiles. Good Write.
Thank you Kevin for your read and interpretation of this piece. I like the take on a nation's history from westward expansion to present day. In all actuality I have been privileged to see all of this, experiencing the steam engine and cowboys with their guns strapped on when I first went to Brasil in 1970 and it was disappearing at that time. I have seen it evolve into highways and a gunless society. Time passes and we are a part of it.
My Pleasure.
Soren, this really resonated with me. There’s a wistfulness running through it that feels less like mourning and more like quietly acknowledging that every generation leaves something behind. Beautiful write, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you my friend for reading this piece and your comment. It means a great deal
Very true soren, the ghosts of the past are only in our memories now.
Andy
Thank you Gold for the read and comment it means a lot. Yes memories are ghosts of the past
Depicts how life changes. Scenes of the past disappear little by little. Colours fade. Even the gun made of metal evaporated. Changes are beyond our control.
Thank you Soman for the read and comment. Yes so true all that remain are ghosts of memories
Sometimes your poetry is so complicated, I'm lost for words. Guess its a good thing I'm not a very good interpreter. I liked the write very much.
Thank you for the read and comment, sorry for any confusion.
What remains is not the past itself, but a softened, unreliable memory of it—like a photograph fading to gray. Well Done Soren
Thank you so much Gray you are so right in your interpretation and much appreciated
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