Ride of History

Through the ghostly forest
and wandering eyes,
The cold winter chill like death
In wispy soft cries.

Leather swung beneath my legs,
The same cloth I wore.
As I handled the rough reins,
Much like the night's decor.

Past the temples of aged kings,
Their faces set in stones.
Past monuments--liberty sang,
Scriptures wrote on bones.

Look over yonder, Paul Revere
Bless his noble heart.
A rider of night, much like me
Though an early start

Sound of firing marshals,
mixed with the song,
of Echo and her mourning,
Wandering along.

And here I meet my past,
A part of these dreams,
but they were no dreams at all,
They were me--it seems.