by D. P. Johnson

Created on: February 25, 2009

Old One

The man standing there
With grey in his beard, from the earth deep
Asked me my name.
I spoke it
As it had been in times ancient passed.

He looked at me with a shadow of recognition
The smile he painted showed his fear
He, the old one, knew
My name.
I, too, had seen the sea part,
The wall fall,
And beheld the darkness and hate
As it had been since times ancient passed.

Time, fleeting as mountain mist,
Passes.
We, voices dissident, speak the tale
As it had been in times ancient passed.

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