even a world
spun out of the
the most precious
of stones can
by a summer wind
whose ill temper
cares not for
fate’s heartless blade
to slice and dice
by endless cuts
that chaos brings
turning day to night
with but a moment
arriving as cold
as a daggered hand
to reap havoc on
on a well made bed
to invite comfort
– now, no more –
“thoughts,” are very strange –
though lacking substance, they can
be rigid as stone
Living in a world full of mystery
Where we don’t fully know our history
We are left full of crazy notions
Of how our ancestors crossed the oceans
Did they row or did they sail?
How is it that they did not fail?
Across the ocean blue I heard they came
A precise time for this, we cannot frame
They walked across the land, across the sand
Did they come this way where I now stand?
Did they look like you and me?
Did they see creatures that made them flee?
I can’t imagine that if it was you or I
Whether we’d make a map of the open sky
With boulders huge they marked the stars
All around us they left their scars
They understood so long ago
That with time, where the stars would go
So precise were their stone device
How were they built and at what price?
Why to heaven did they intensely stare?
So many answers they did not share
Like the rest of us, I can only guess
That’s why our knowledge is still a mess.
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