A lost poem

[oneighty]

The delta of the North and South Santee Rivers in South Carolina was once a great rice plantation. I ventured to Murphys Island there frequently. There are huge oak trees ,rice ponds, remains of old buildings and silence. Almost.

I see a land of
Silken gowns
Of burlap dresses
And hunting hounds
Of columned porches
And dirty hovels
Of leg of mutton
And fat salt back
Of bending knees
And bleeding blacks.

And in fear

An icy chill wracks my spine
The evil darkness clouds my mind
Hair on end and pounding heart
Short of breath a breathless shout
Rubber knees and leaden feet
I flee this island of silent hosts
And leave it to its wandering ghosts.

If you went there you would see it too. I bet.

This was a very long poem. It was lost in a fire. I have these parts left in a dream book

[KaliTracy]

1. very haunting. have you ever

tried to recreate what you lost -- not to be the same poem -- but to take a different look at the subject at hand?

[Steel City Slim]

2. Felt It

I have felt that same way in similar situations. Last year at Gettysburg and Antietam I felt the souls of dead soldiers.

[oneighty]

3. Then you know.

Unreasonable fear.

180

[JitterbugPerfume]

4. pure terror

irrational fear



cool poem Ed