Echoes of Mulberry Peak
Barely listen, strain to hear,
The whispered psalms of fallen men.
Phantom calls reign far and near,
Through quiet rustlings of gentle winds.
In brazened sorrow I stand alone,
Gazing down on hallowed ground.
Where a thousand souls lie atoned,
Eternal peace so violently found.
I wipe a tear and bow my head,
As images flash before my eyes.
The visaged scores of immortal dead.
Their shallow graves patrolled by flies.
They fought so bravely to achieve,
A blessed reprieve from ambient drones.
They died so nobly for their belief,
Nestled prone among leaves and stones.
For who so honors these righteous souls,
Cast away bar thought nor prayer.
Forgotten spirits from days of old,
Passed away shorn tear nor care.
Gaze out in morn, beyond dawn's light stars,
As rising ghost's vaporous clouds beseek,
Hazed white billows mourn ancient scars,
Apprise shrouded echoes of Mulberry Peak.
Copyright © October 2009
Kevin Mooney
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