Monday, June 26, 2006

The Stones

My memories of you stand in granite on silent shores. Rapa Nui statues, they whisper your name with a silence that transcends locution; renders moot response. I will never know the sculptors, nor understand what they felt.

Who built these ancient monuments to you? Certainly not I. That civilization has fallen, and there is no one left to tell the world how it ended. I would do better to ponder the tides, to do battle with the currents and never look again upon these ruins. Better to forget, and free myself from doubt or blame.

And yet the stones are ever watchful. I cannot escape their gaze.


Anonymous Bob said...

Beautiful writing, inspired me to go find this one which I haven't read for years and years:


I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

5:09 PM  

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