The Ghosts of Hellas
Black are the breakers, unending in bluster,
Foaming and gyring in sibilant air,
Here by the temple, the trees in a cluster,
Lone Aphrodite, her statue so fair.
Wide are the steps that lead up to the altar,
Pillars in columnar fortitude built,
Now in desuetude, slowly they falter,
Wracked by the ages and layers of silt.
Manifold ghosts with a Grecian bravado,
Walking and talking in vales beyond time,
Picking the olive and soft avocado,
There as immorals in orchards sublime.
Gone are the festivals here by the ocean,
Vacant the halls where they merrily danced,
Stolen from life, drinking death for a potion,
Ghosts the omnipotent reaper romanced.
Bright is the sun hitting onto the mountain,
Rocks of the grotto in Argentine grey,
Gay is the water that spills from the fountain,
Ghosts in the sunlight are present today.
☀️
adamdaniel 