The Past

The past whispered into my ears,
telling me of years
gone by.
I moved not,
in the still air
to hear the hoarse
voice of the bygone.
The language unknown
yet the stories known,
spread like a web
to catch me in snare;
The lips moved
 in indistinct murmur
to songs that were
sung in yester years.
They beckoned me 
to touch their texture,
the groovy voice
down a deep well,
I moved a step
down the ladder 
a step at a time 
into it's depth.
Today was forgotten,
the past more real,
Dazed I saw
it clutching my hand.
It drew me near
fast into it's bosom.
Relieved we felt
tears streaming
down our eyes,
Sighed---
We took a long breath
And then became friends.