The graveyard of ten thousand stones-
A maze to match the sky-
Was riddled with the blackened bones
Of centuries gone by.
The stones did reach to realms of dreams
As vines then grew in cracking seams,
But never, knew they why.

The purpose of these stones so proud
Was something left unread,
Though highest, through the smoke and cloud
A statue, surely dead,
Did rise the tallest of the flock,
With buried feet among the rock;
Showing stars his head.

And there, the winged creatures glide
Atop the noxious veil,
In envy of the beautified,
empowered statue, pale.
The other stones not blessed as he-
Much shorter than this statue be-
Were shunned by sun and gale.

To beast that drags is belly raw
Whilst scavenging the heath,
And breathes what filters through its jaw
And eats with rounded teeth.
Oh, to be as the statue, grand-
To rule atop this wretched land;
Alas, it crawls beneath.

Yet as the evening passes by
The statue – leaning thin,
Does sigh a most unnatural sigh
Of loneliness within.
No company from mud or stone;
Above the earth he stands alone,
No friend nor next of kin.

Jonathon Best 2017©