Where My Childhood Roams Poem by Richard D Remler

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A bit of a haunt,
This memory,
Like the whisper of an
Old friend,
Distant,
And near,
And distant again,
Almost an echo in itself,
Fading in and out
Of the transient,
Fragrant shadows
Where ribbons of
Black Ivy
Drape the Ash
And Dogwood.

Drops of dew
Bead against the
Pale moonlight,
And something
In the wind stirs,
Tossing dried,
Forgotten leaves
Into the ashen stillness,
Gently rustling
Fragile branches
And sending waves into
The crimson tipped
Wild grasses.

And there,
She breathes, stirs
The summer mist,
Careful not to
Wake the dew.
'Tis a darkness she
Cannot resist,
A sapphirine
Twilight
Known to few.
Where fleeting whispers
Greet the day,
And the dreams of
Shadow children play.
Where thunders peal
An alter cry,
And long forgotten
Winters sigh.

There is a place
Of subtle dreams,
Where lightning fades,
And silence screams,
Unheard, unheeded warnings through
That outre cask of summer dew.
Where bloodstones echo
Ancient tales,
And of their deep
And dark farewells.
Where, in silence,
Those haunts
So frozen in time,
Rest where the torn,
And nettled branches
Of laurel climb.
Where the mandrake, the henbane,
And white hellebore call
Through the shadowing leaves
Of evenfall.

There the wind,
In all its quiet breath
Kisses through the red oak
And blue myrtle,
The cottonwood and ash,
Tossing around yellowed leaves
In a tender ballet,
A place old,
And new,
And old again,
Where dry branches creek out
Unheeded warnings
And the wind whistles
And bites whispered secrets
Into the hollow dark.

There is a place,
They say,
Of old.
A place of darkened
Chamber Gold,
A secret place
Known but to a few.
Where crickets sing
To waters blue.
Where tree frogs mourn
Their subtle home,
And Wild Oleander roam.
Where the sun beams through
The dead of night,
Touching everything in sight,
With its wan,
And silent light.

There she walks the
Emerald darkness through
Swathes of lightning green,
Leaving but the softest breath
Of sorrow in-between,
And touching ancient autumn leaves
Beaded with new dew,
As shafts of wistful moonlight
Bathed in stardust wander through.
Where glows the lanterne des mortes
Under her fading shell,
Where the spirited sprytes
And sorted saints
Of Mt. Helicon may dwell.

She is always there,
Always drifting through
The ivy covered willow,
The oak, the cottonwood,
Always whispering her quiet words
Into unsuspecting ears,
Leaving only the softest footprints
In the ancient snow,
Forgotten and abandoned
By the years.

She watches this hidden place,
This place so dark with wonder,
And the cold breath
Of tomorrow,
Of a thousand
Yesterdays ago,
And of now.
Where the autumn frost scribbles
Her name into the mossy earth,
And firefly candles
Dot the trees.

There is an obscure path
Through the Greentea rose,
Which follows a
Haunt of lambent snows
That lead to where a river flows
Near Andromeda's Beaded Well.

She will follow the
Ivy draped septum through
Reeds of wine,
And thunders blue,
Where dour spirits
In common dwell
With the meadowlark
And the nightingale.
Where the tormented soul
Is never seen,
And the soft wind blows
Shaded
And serene.
This is a place of chambered
Catacombs,
And the haven where
My Childhood roams.




Copyright © MMX Richard D. Remler