The stones are silent observers
to the machinations of humanity.
Men and women rest upon
a welcoming stone’s surface
while embraced in the beauty
of a clandestine stolen kiss,
a long embrace till they meet again,
with the strength of the stones
beneath them… ever so silent.
Weary war-torn soldiers rest upon
a comforting stone’s surface,
pen in hand while writing to lovers
in far off lands, allowing the weight
of a warrior’s trauma and fear
to rest gently upon the strength of the stones,
beneath them…ever so silent.
Children happily crawl up a tantalizing
stone’s surface, and young ones learn to fly,
jumping from a launching pad, leaping into the power
of possibility, while the grownups are not looking
and the young ones find their power,
infused with the strength of the stones
beneath them…ever so silent.
Tribes honor their sacred tables, a ritualistic
stone’s surface provided for the worship
of the Powers that Be, remembrance of the ancestors
and in honor of Mother Earth, while their prayers
dance upon the strength of the stones
beneath them…ever so silent.
And so it goes, throughout the ages,
the silence of the stones
holds the desire of humanity
as a secret trust, offering mutely
what humans hold most dear,
the freedom to act and be heard,
…without commentary.
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