Broken Stones

Pillars of black stones,

Built on broken homes

Give way unto the scavengers of spoil,

As a den of harlots swing and sway in their toil.

For mans honor is in total disarray,

with its omen here to stay.

For unto it is lent a crooked ear,

that men of honor ought to fear.

With laughing gypsies in their eyes,

They dance naked beneath the bleeding skies.

Singing in merriment of a final night,

the fool and his folly, oblivious to his plight.

For he has given himself over to the lust of dreams,

And allowed not one, but ten harlots his soul to glean.

So goes forth another sack of black stones,

That will burden and break an already unhappy home.

For the gypsies will still laugh and the harlots will seek their pay,

But the fool and his black stones will forever lose his way.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004