Past-Lifes

[Guest guest]

Hi there,

One day in May, many short years ago

I had a Window open-up for me, in Time:

Where I saw the endings of my many lives.

The last one took place on the battle-field in the South,

durning the Civil War. A place that I never want to go

back to, down below the Mason-Dixon Line.

There, in the vision I was laying down on the ground and a group

of men wearing the Grey uniforms of Confederate Officers stood

all around me, looking down at me.

So I wrote about it in my weird descriptive, poetic way,

and this is what came through as I wrote.~~~~

" There is a soft breeze blowing from the South, bringing the scent

of lilacs blooming along the garden wall.

I am walking alone along the Promenade beside red roses growing

there, as I enter the Arbor which extends around the lower terrace;

wisteria blossoms are hanging down above my head like bunches

of purple grapes.

I can hear the sound of faint voices lingering in the air, and I hear the

tinkle of ice in a glass of lemonade, and the sound of girlish laughter,

coming from under wide-brim hats, smiling faces hiding in their shade.

Pretty Girls in golden curls, and long skirts sweeping clean the floor,

one is the girl that I adore, there amid the flashing smiles, and sexy wiles

that refresh my memory.

But as I come closer, everything begins to fade away, like leaves blowing

on a windy day, Can they be but the ghosts of a day long ago.?

The music in the background, is still playing familar tunes from my

childhood

memories, back when I was young and so much in love, before the last dance,

before the awful shots rang-out, before the scarlet blood began to flow,

before

I cried, before I died.

Now the Garden echo's with stifled sighs and muffled cries, streaming out

from

behind cold marble seats, the dead grass retreats into tangled weeds, that

are

dying because of hollow seeds that never grow.

And I remember all my deeds and mis-deeds, they remain etched indelibly in

my

turbulent dreams.

When the wind blows the cradle will rock, when the bough breaks the cradle

will

fall, down will come cradle, baby and all. ha! ha! ha!

Sweet dreams

S.C.