Walking the Ghost Road
by Janet Scott McDaniel
Tears of dew
fall upon the path of sacred stone
where moccasin-clad feet
shuffle,
leather upon stone,
as drums beat low
upon the night wind.
Softly,
kindred spirits chant,
dark eyes within painted faces;
bodies circling the sacred fire,
in harmony with
the hypnotic rhythm
of the shell shakers;
feathers and beads
speaking of a history
as ancient as Mother Earth.
In eternal cadence
they move as one,
their voices
a graceful hymn:
of lessons told,
history shared;
tributes honoring those
who have walked
beyond the stars.
For only in the knowledge
of the ancients,
can we ever hope to find
our place
upon the ghost road.
by Janet Scott McDaniel
Tears of dew
fall upon the path of sacred stone
where moccasin-clad feet
shuffle,
leather upon stone,
as drums beat low
upon the night wind.
Softly,
kindred spirits chant,
dark eyes within painted faces;
bodies circling the sacred fire,
in harmony with
the hypnotic rhythm
of the shell shakers;
feathers and beads
speaking of a history
as ancient as Mother Earth.
In eternal cadence
they move as one,
their voices
a graceful hymn:
of lessons told,
history shared;
tributes honoring those
who have walked
beyond the stars.
For only in the knowledge
of the ancients,
can we ever hope to find
our place
upon the ghost road.
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