Standing Stone.

STANDING STONE. In my image of standing stone I dared to move beyond Chilled time lines Or perhaps my physicality Will evolve Like unto some warm flesh Exposed to the wintry rains Or to vagrant summer nights. I may be a word In constructions of dreams An angelic legend serrated With wings clipped An eagle soarful of The harassed heights Spurred by winds Of the plaited horns. The bright white Lights of afternoons Will snatch horizons From trembling shadows And might smuggle in A maudit melancholy To upset prescribed sermons. With cut face Within my stony profile With chipped voices Within my throat A circular solitude Within my dreams I may be ready to scribe Some strange tales Quilled in dripped bloods For annals of the unknown.