Day Ten – standing stones
The Standing Stone
I am just stood standing here. Don’t know why?
Folk gawk at me, as for a miracle.
Run their fingers through spirals chiselled by
someone who had a reason to channel
their beliefs into my solid body.
Probably same folk who quarried and moved
me here, raised me up here meaningfully.
Stone doesn’t hurt, doesn’t bleed. Pressured
into what I am. You make me something
special. Set me up for some strange
purpose. Once I must have had some meaning.
I find meaning in holding up the skies range.
I may topple over at some near time.
Till then I’m stood standing, a weathered sign.