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Open Poetry #32

Up on Black Jack Mountain

Effigy
Member

since 2000-04-11

Posts 486
disbelief

0 posted 2004-05-04 06:04 PM

No one spoke of the house,
where people never came or went.

          On Black Jack mountain,
          where nothing ever happened
          things were normal and serine.

But up on top recessed
back into the woods of  Ol’ Black Jack
set that house accessed
only by a narrow path that cut through
the underbrush,
where people never came or went.

There in the run down shadow
of the former house existed a man
who never lived. The dead man sat
in his rocking chair condemned by
no one, but himself.

Raging against the on-setting senility,
          and anyone else who had influence
          or control over his cognitive abilities,
he lashed out in his mind
  all while sitting in his rocking chair
  in this place where time did not pass
         and the dead never truly…
         died.

Up on Ol’ black Jack Mountain things
had a way of staying the same. Nothing here
had changed much in the last century.

You see memories fade slowly,
they linger around floating like ghost.
and up on Black Jack Mountain,
they live in the woods waiting for
for some one to forget.

The rest of the world may have moved on,
but these people, these people here on Ol’ Black Jack
have regrets, and none of them more than the old man
who set in his rocking chair at the house
back in the woods, where the dead up and walked,
and the rest of us never came nor went.

Marge Tindal