Cobblestone Echoes
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As much as modern living often times enhances for the better, what price “the real thing” left behind, forgotten, save for the few refusing to become deaf?
Cobblestone Echoes
by Odin Roark
Ancient stone
keeper of darkness
of auras reaped from high seas
vast is your harvest
from earth rumblings beset by molten tears
to charred obsidian made hard
glass reflecting where primates once clamored upon
From paws a running
sniffed calloused drippings in peril
where sandal swathed footsteps
dodged blade and spear
as wash water dumped from high
added slippery footing for predators ever lustful
ever hungry
ever historic
Now the high noon of modern life
the wonder among your melodies
amidst recent fabrications emulating your path
you the wrinkled skin spirit of ancient masons
who served sun-baked feasts
from the past of pasts
Alas…
Genuine micro-canyons of irrigated seed and drift
send the spirits aloft from once grasses high
reminding us that while calendars may crumble
time’s enduring stone of old remains original
transcending the language of vowel and consonant
acknowledging the reach of sentient eye to eye
the whispered caress beneath a Nike sole
sharing the tongues of old
echoing the murmurs of weary travelers
the severed limbs of warriors
the rivers of plasma-red passion
polishing fossils within
within
within
Yet many choose faking Nature’s setting
even making ready counterfeit copies
to pacify the blind living without preference
massaging serpentine monsters of ignorance
whose Gucci laced feet now prance upon this facsimile
sold as make-believe
glittering’s bondage
hidden in fakery
having not a clue of the Carthaginians
or Mediterranean isles of blood and sweat
from whence it all came
For like Rodeo Drive’s cobblestone plazas
where modern celebrity prisons of today
masquerade as credible reality for borrowed tomorrows
knockoff décor identity everlasting
unaware their own history
reaches inevitable fade out
may never know the hidden messages
Perhaps…
The subtle cacophony of shadow and whisper
cobblestone’s enigmatic infernal
made orchestral for those who can hear
those who dare see through the darkness
those who can be moved and touched by
shadowed silence protected with truth
will experience the magic
How few seem to hear the deafening message
Copyright © Odin Roark | Year Posted 2013
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