The Ancestors' voices I sometimes hear.
Whispering secrets from yesteryear.
The sweet whispering songs
With embedded lyrics which compels me to hum and sing along.
Voices that echoes like clarion bells.
So many tales to tell.
Lessons with an under current of fear;
Voices echoing with the breezy breath of despair.
The words I now speak
Are snippets of the Ancestral verbal leak.
They Lament the multitudes of long won gains; lost
Because many are blind to the impending cost.
They observe those accumulating material wealth
While under lashes of the glittering golden belt.
So many are slashed and dashed
And discarded like trash.
The lore of the momentary stash.
Our children's children's future
Echoing the past
Enduring struggles that were not intended to last.
History and dignity stolen with guile
Stolen with a pearly white smile.
Stolen are the golden years of a child.
The Nouveau slavers; Chromo-toned tied
Purveyors of White Lies.
Black Hearted..
Compassion departed.
Malice abound
In the chaotic sounds
Of the ghost chains
That jingles and dangles
That binds and strangles.
Until ....
Silence..
Then LOVE that binds.
Then LOVE that ties.
LOVE to a child.
My Ancestors' voices I sometimes hear.
Imparting love to dampen the real live fear.
They speak to my mind
Blood calls to Blood;
A genetic pool that ripples in time
That sparkles and blind.
The pond is silent and deep.
A knowledge well.
Into our soul it creeps;
Into our soul it sleeps.
History repeating on the helical vine.
Fates intertwined.
From the sublime
To the divine.
My Ancestors' voices I sometimes hear.
The message is not always clear.
I hear you in the steady beat of the falling rain.
Is it filled with joy or showered in pain?
I hear you in the cracking of the dirt.
Is it a mask as you smile or the echo of the hurt?
Are your voices in the thunderclap
That echoes the hero that was snapped?
The neck crack from the back handed slap?
Is it in the sweet sound and feel of a Mother's kiss?
A heart beats
The sounds of many feet
Drum Drum
Under the relenting Sun.
"Silence..."
"Silence..."
"SILENCE..."
My Ancestors speak.
By: PDONEIL
Aug 9 2018
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POETIC SKETCHES
PoetrySketched in black and white - a series of poems dealing with a number of ideas.
