R. K. Hart
Blackened bark striping from the silver tree,
Leaves that are green glisten with dew in the canopy.
Shadows creep across the grey dusty track,
Multiple hues of green frame it from front to back.
A blue grey fence secluded amongst the protective saplings,
A gate hangs precariously by hinges with screws that have lost their cling.
Over grown paths lead around the block,
About the two bed home, broken panes by rock.
Olden photos strewn about a dank lounge room,
Ladies in dresses fancy and men in suits standing with their groom.
Parasols dotted here and there,
Neck to knee bathers sitting in deck chairs.
All of this a picture of times gone by and people of greater grace,
When all knew what was accepted and their place.
Men worked long hours in deep mine or clerking place,
Creating home for spouse and children with cherubim face.
There were both good and great about these days,
Along with wrong and worse in all its ways.
No one era has all that is good or bad,
All that is right and wrong, happy or sad.
The wise would take the stability of yester year,
And leave behind its cruelties with a cheer.
Let us keep the humanities of today that was lacking,
And dispense with today's celebrity seeking.
Imagine with me if we were to keep that that is the best,
And remove the poison, ugly and care for all transgressed.
Let us return to the book of the saints as a master plan,
Back to the book the Bereans read and had at hand.
So as my discourse comes to its inevitable end,
Dear friend fight the good fight and right defend.
And where there stands memories of another time,
Keep these things for our descendants yours and mine.
R. K. Hart 25/10/12
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Comments about this poem (Blacken History by R. K. Hart )
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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