Sacred Etchings
Walls stripped bare of time.
Symbols shinning through
moon phases
piled as sand.
Carvings of past hunters
speak a bewildering code,
of lives washed from history.
Meaning vanished.
Impression conveyed.
Time has left the message,
and betrayed the creator.
His flesh gone
language scattered.
A people swallowed by disease,
and famine,
storm and drought,
war and disunity.
The only evidence of heritage
streaks placed on canyon walls.
undeciphered pictographs of
anonymous origin.
And yet I have expectations
of meeting the author
around a river bend.
Hunting the same prey,
cleansing in the same stream,
tending mutual crops,
sheltering similar families,
chiseling with ancient tools,
upon cliffs of dazzling, pounded sand.
Copyright © Wayne Hill | Year Posted 2013
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