Touch of the Past

uneven, stony paths
my steps
disturb the leaves ~
a colorful blanket,
carefully draped

sweet sadness
grips me,
takes hold
and settles
my racing, agitated mind

rows and rows ~
towering high, majestic
some small,
cracked and bruised
frail and broken

old, they whisper
the earthen beds…
monuments in time

names, embedded in stone
moss-accentuated ~
i picture their faces,
and breathe life
into the Long Gone
one more time

the oaks’ heavy boughs
pick at my thoughts,
lift with ease, to join
trees’ leafy heads (up in the clouds) ~
as if they weigh nothing

and in the company
of the dead
i feel comforted,
for they know all the stories,
smile warmly
and never judge

and in the company
of the dead
i find
my heart,
my voice,
my sweet solitude.

… following dVerse‘s call for beautiful solitude. this is my place… where is yours?
photo credits:

32 thoughts on “Touch of the Past

  1. your place of solitude requires more bravery than I can muster. I love the line “they smile warmly and never judge” quite an imagination you have.


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