The ancient witness of the stones:
the blood and oaths of ancient fears.
They mark the graves of dead men’s bones
and mark the grief of cries and tears.
The ancient secrets of the stones:
the whisper of dark lovers’ sighs,
the music played in minor tones,
the afterglow of lovers’ lies.
The sacred knowledge of the stones:
By moonlight, bloody rituals done.
Etched deep, the geometric runes
glow bright in rays of radiant sun.
The mournful silence of the stones:
Forever troth to silent dread,
mark time and season, screams and moans,
the deep, sad silence of the dead.
Til then my lady, utmost care:
The unschooled tongue and violin drones
shall bring the judgment and the wrath
of spirits captured in the stones.
*Art by Victoria Francis