Stonehenge
by Michael R. Burch

Here where the wind imbues life within stone,
    I once stood
and watched as the tempest made monuments groan
    as if blood
boiled within them.

Here where the Druids stood charting the stars
    I can tell
they longed for the heavens ... perhaps because
    hell
boiled beneath them?

Keywords/Tags: Stonehenge, standing, stones, sarcens, bluestones, Druids, star, charts, charting, blood, heaven, hell

sticks and stones
can break my bones
words like swords
hurt me the most
but
i like to
pretend they don't

I walk the stones each Sunday
I leave flowers as I walk
Not for certain people
Just in case the spirits talk

I left a rose for Eleanor
Gone 100 years
Just to let her know that
Someone still sheds tears

There's lots to learn while out here
Walking through the stones
Listen close to all the voices
That aren't as silent as their bones

There are soldiers who died fighting
For freedom they did die
From the beginning of our country
Who now beneath us lie

They fought the revolution
Some fought in Vietnam
Some died lost deep inside themselves
Now, folks don't give a ****

There's many here of children
From the old orphan home
They found them buried out in back
So, there their spirits roam

The grass is kept up nicely
Though the stones are left to rot
I try to clean them up a bit
I guess I'm all they've got

I started out just walking
Now, I clean the stones while here
I give them the respect they miss
I can feel their spirits near

So next time you're out walking
And you want to stretch your bones
Bring a brush down to the graveyard
We'll take a walk among the stones

Its about all I can take
This woolly MAMMOTH
Extinction at stake

You make me SICK
which flaw will I pick

Your upturned SMILE
with sadness drawn across
for miles

Your metallic
sanguine thick SICK

You are platinum
Numb
White gold WITHERED
Dumb

Metal breaks what
Sticks and STONES
Make

koi pond quietude
values and tones of zen stones...
find repose and peace

A whisper within the tall reeds,
                          as hollow words

echo though those static.


Yet ever word has motion
             on those unmoved.

Yet words can collect upon the cracks.


Weaving untruths between each,
              caressed form.

And still though unmoved.
      I heard the lies that started

as a ripple in a pond.

But made there way through
  the reeds that stood tall.

And I just gazed as the wind told me,
          that no matter the ripples.

A breeze is still made,
      and will pass through,
           the reeds of static

                               whispers.


I cried on the edge,
             knowing
             that I neither had thrown
                                  a stone of lies within

or that I had breathed untruths
that were
                wavering between static reeds.