I looked upon an alien shore.
There a dank old bronze door.
Inside was a hidious sight.
Many people in wayward flight.
Caught in the grip of bondage.
No more free to roam and forage.
Hollow eyes look at forgotten lore.
Wishing for a home on wayward shores.
It proved history a friend.
Like a hoop it repeats - NO BENDS.
A law of ancient lore and time.
The past always seems so sublime.
from my poem book - DREAMS 2