Ghosts of the First People

The ghosts whisper softly,

in the deep fog,

hoping for an end,

to the war against nature,

the war against color,

“all men are created…”,

they whisper to each other,

listening for signs,

of life.

Will the Creator be honored?

will there be a dawn of wholeness,

and peace?

hopeful,

they long to wake up,

their brothers and sisters,

and to see the restoration,

of all things.

But before the dawn, a storm,

cleansing,

from the poison,

of bad hearts.

And the ghosts still whisper,

in the deep fog.

 

 

 

Peace to everyone.

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

“If you love nature, you will love people.”

Advertisements