old ghosts play in a orchestra
before painted ladies
across a golden bridge,
memory sepia toned
kodak instamatic
lingers too,
white house lawn
protest placards,
my poetry read aloud
younger me
more potent then,
squint at the sun
absorbing light,
nature my bus to salvation
notation and tune
may argue with me,
i know where i belong,
war and ever wishing peace
the lick of history
cannot salve wounds so many,
shade of tree a haunted place
my grave and i
knew what path was ahead,
so remember and read
wisdom is a growing child
needing nurture along
the way
velvetmedia 
I liked the way your thoughts and poetry flowed. I do think that I wished there were no wars and only peace. Good thoughts and some morbidity and some hope, too.
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yes you always need to nurture
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It is true Sheilagh
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A lot of graphic imagery in this piece–I particularly like:
“wisdom is a growing child
needing nurture along
the way”
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Mister Chris 🙂 what’s Goin on – You are writing voraciously ….:)
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I have mad moments where i write a lot at once :0 smiles to you x
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There are a host of epithets in this piece. It was a joy to read.
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Thank you
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