The Moai

Quarried, and carved from our earthen mother's skeletal Backbone and under belly, were the Moai solid rock deities, Stone guardians of Easter Island. A mystical place, a harvested paradise, but nothing remains Of the people whom built this land of living statues, except For these harden faces, looking towards the ocean, as if in Wait for their native worshipers to return. Sit and listen my friend, to the whispering in the wind, Do you hear the low humming sound, rolling across The rocky and jagged surf. It is the Moai, calling unto the five raw elements of the world. Let us live again, to walk among the heavens vast Divides, and to feel the winds breeze at our faces Once more. Slowly the ground shifts and moves, rumbles and Quakes, lightening splits as thunder strikes against The harden ground, nature itself has heard them, And answers their wishes with life anew. Shedding layers textures by depths degree, piece by Piece, stone turns into gravel, rough rock is smoothed, Hued by mystic incantations spell, brick becomes Bone, and nature answers their wishes with life anew. Living giants pull themselves up out of the earth, Shaking away debris's leavings, and thus shall Stone breaths, inhaling freedom's fresh air at last. Behold the living god's of Stone, guardians of An ancient culture lost unto time itself. But at dusk's fading sunset, the spell is thus Broken and slowly these giant figures take Their places once again, melting as if it Never happened, yet the humming still Lingers echoing across the ocean. For stone God's never forget, and waiting On Easter Island do they so sit, monuments To a people whom disappeared without a trace. But their deities shall call unto them until One day they'll return, and then maybe Giants again shall walk this earth in Celebration, to feast amongst their people Once more. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN