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 