I am a womb
I am all encompassed
A cavern
Solitary in the depths
Desired by many
Loved by few
I am the walls men come to leave their writings on
Depicting their stories
Their hopes
Their dreams
I have no stories, no dreams
Empty and hollow
Echoing of those past
Valued but disposable
Made for a single purpose
Given to me by those men
Who have laid claim
I bore them
And then they return
With their writings, with their law
My miracle is theirs
Not my own