The Souls of Cool Spring

Waves of mystic wind born this moment, the first cut into hallowed ground I search relics of the bloody battle of Cool Spring Yelps of Soldiers, first blurred, then sharpening into individual clarity rein down like passing bullets upon my ears Shadows run along the hill that drops off to the creek as tree limbs orchestrate Thunderous hooves dart past and through me Leaves lift and swirl like tiny tornadoes I click off the machine and remove the shovel from the gaping wound Silence falls and in this empty wood my thoughts of sorrow are heard Upon the wound a button lay, pristeen as the day it fell some hundred plus years ago A shadow dips below the hill I take the button and leave a tear for the souls of Cool Spring

Deckard

I began writing poetry when I was a teenager and it truly saved me from a destructive path. 'Time Heals' will be on my grave stone'. I have 3 incredible kids who are the greatest gifts that God has given me. If I have advice to give to aspiring...

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