I’d anticipated more.
More mystery, more magic,
Or, some secret sign to have endured
The silent witness of these standing stones.
Hoping, that some remnant of intention
Had remained;
Revealing early windows
Which Earth’s lost light could pierce
To clear my opaque eyes.
Instead, I saw quite clearly
The tool marks of dead men,
Their crude labour overscored
With careless carving from a modern hand.
“Sue ***** ***** for 50p”
Phone 9573
Come in the mouth of ecstasy”
And there was me;
My squat thought wanting liberation.
© James Rainsford 2010