Sins of the Past

by Chris

Part of the Written on the Wind poetry collection.

Dedication: To Teresa C. Thanks for your encouragement, Lady!

Feedback: Yes. But no flames please!

Sins Of The Past

The land far withdrawn
Like a distant, ancient god
Lies fast asleep
In the dawn’s crimson lap,

I’m here sitting with bent head
Bowed to the earth
And my soul,
A stronghold never taken
Stormed at hourly in vain,
held by a force unknown

Neither answers not yields.

I watch those hands,
That shall be always with me
To serve my ends,
And I can see the blood
Dripping from my pale fingers.

I know the lie,
The maze, the wild wood waste
Of falsehood. But my past
Locked me inside
The savage keep of memories
Guarded by mad, dull eyes.
Even in my dreams.
My past is nothing but a bloody stain
Flawing my world.
A wound - I feel the well – known pain
And in my grief I have no words.

How can this shameful tale be told?
I will retain until my death
I could do nothing, being sold.