I see castles in my mind, a dark corridor where I travel
I glimpse small bits of history
they stir something in me, a reaching after the past.
The fading wall paper, the empty rooms, the paint worn away on the stairs.
I feel, that if I sit for a while among it all
I will hear the echos of voices, long gone, and the tread of foot upon stair.
I run my fingers along the bricks
joined together with mortar and spikes of wood,
there, at the corner.
I feel the rough wood of the ancient house and press my palm to it
there is a sense of the person who carved this piece of wood,
I want to know them.
Feeling and standing, trying to sense those spirits
an elusive art
My awe and reverence are my personal memorial,
though others also stand and gawk.
It reminds me a bit of the fairies I used to conjure with my brother,
out in the quiet woods.
You give me that feeling, at times
Can history answer for things as they are today?
Walking through the silent somber halls of the ancient ruins
I slide my hand along the stones
feeling in a sense that I can pick up the presence
of those who have walked there before.
Another visitor
the ancient lord or lady
or even the wind
which holds all within it's invisible grasp and passes over all, eventually.
Fleeting thoughts permeate all we encounter.
we only leave a small sense
of who we are.
