The Dream
In a dream I walk through a corridor, Corinthian columns line the way, the splendor that was Rome, the majesty of Greece, the ancients now silent from Egypt to Crete, beyond the Pillars of Hercules, there in the Atlantic once long ago did lie Atlantis. In a dream I see them, their warriors shining and bold, gleaming shields and swords the proud horses they rode. From their bards and sages the stories were told about men that would fight for country and earth to the day of their death from the time of their birth. Spartan creed, Celtic ballad, words that are whispered through ages and time, something that knows deep in the mind. What went before still echoes faintly, and opens a door to a place we've heard in lore. It's a place we were long, long ago. Our ancestors are with us deep in our soul there in our dreams somehow we know. Blood of our blood, bone of our bone, of these things unknown, somehow familiar . . . in a dream I walk though a corridor, in a dream?
Richard Brown
Copyright ©2000 Richard Brown

The Standing Stones
Like a standing stone on an ancient mound, I stand alone, as the wind whips by it seems to murmur a song from long ago.  I can just hear the melody, a haunting dirg that whispers of deeds long gone. Like a Standing Stone on some ancient mound, a mute witness to history, I stand speechless at what we have done and what we have become. Where are our leaders to guide us? Are there no more Arthurs? Where are our bishops to bless us? Are there no more Patricks to walk among us as examples of our God? Is there a way to Avalon, where my wounds might be healed?
Richard Brown
Copyright ©2000 Richard Brown