Ancient History

Clamor wakes the backyard
A plaintiff wail for mercy
My lab shakes newborn
limb from limb
‘Til pity squeals no more

The day crawls on
Yet mine moves not
Revisit cries my ears remind
A life jawed up
A family broken, sold

Field hollers creep
Subconscious shakes
Dark sweat and oozing sores
A duet vacant melody

Warrior cry jailed in plastic
Thanksgiving repast burned
Char the forte liberty
A nation’s falsehood anthem
My frozen entity stares

Limb from limb shudders
Boxed ears drown mercy flight
Screams history primeval
Knives pierce nocturne’s down

Pray stop, oh, ancient history
Take pity indigenous gods

A whisper defeats all yearning

“Forget, it’s Ancient History

Let go, it’s ancient History

Forget, it’s Ancient history

Let go, it’s ancient history”

Tagged:May 2025 Poetry

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About the Author

Julie Peterson Freeman

Julie Peterson Freeman, née Wren Dubois, has been spotted in dark piano bars and tiny cafes in the oldest sections of cities around the world. At the beginning of her career, one was most likely to find her strolling the cobbled streets in the 18th Arrondissement of bohemian Paris. I spotted her arm in arm with the notorious Amantine Dupin (better known as George Sand), exiting Le Tagada, a quaint and popular bar among artists and eccentrics in the famed village of Montmartre. It was here where the flâneur was created. Bien sûr, none of this is true, except in Julie’s imagination.