I complained of my grief to the stones
And they said: Do not worry
One day you will be just like us
But you bleed, I exclaimed,
Just like I
And they sighed: a little scar remains
Is then, I asked, no end to scarring?
As long as there's a trace of life
The wounded stone will bleed, they said
Oh brother stone, you know my secret
That once I loved, that once I felt
And lovers drank my blood
They left me lifeless on the road
And dry and empty and abandoned
And gave it not another thought
When they had taken all they could
No ounce of flesh was left to take
And cruelly then they mocked my trust
A bitch wolf found me and took pity
And made no words and nourished me
And forced this carcass back to life
She fled the hunter and the lover
And human speech she did disdain
I call her wife and mother
In forests deep, in cemeteries
And burial grounds we dwelled
And I was hers and she was mine
Upon the white of skulls the moon
Threw lucid light like ivory
And clear as day were our nights
Among the dead our hearts had life
On shrouds we made love stark and priceless
And free we were in lust and pain
She taught me to despise the lie,
The broken oath, the slave's dull freedom
And shun the reek of caste and law
The web of chains her sharp eyes pierced
Sanctimony's monstrosity
She tore apart with savage teeth
And never did she trust the promise
Of downcast eyes that would not see
And murmur pleasant treachery
Ah, never would she plead for mercy
And never spare the life of one
Who wasn't carrion like me
And never were her eyes averted
Nor ever closed in sleep or kill
And brazen was her gaze and true
Long gone the time we shared, no other
Shall ever own my heart like her
Nor ever know it as she knew
Among people I walk as a stranger
And my voice, be it river or ocean,
Is heard by none but you, brother stone
And none but you answers its whisper
And none preserves its knowledge
But your scarred, serene silence alone
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Regis. 🙏
You have reminded me of one of my posts (not nearly as deep as yours)...
Stones
I walk among stones
They speak echo
An easy language to understand
They talk of storms
Seasons
Starlit nights
I'll never see
Sunrises and sunsets
And the time between them
They speak of things I ought to know
They are wise in the ways of the world
They have aeons’ worth of knowledge
They tell me each grain of sand within them
Is a world apart yet a part
Of them
All right
What do I know?
I’m just a man
Perhaps my ashes can be scattered here
My spirit would not be bored
Among these stones
My friends
You write of living things and their relationship in the world. So I would wonder, if your poem would be better served instead of using stone, you used bone.
Ron