Circle of Stones

Forward:
Sometimes, when, in a moment of quiet I sit, words come to me.  I write them down.  What follows may seem dark.  Take it with a grain of salt (or a salt block if you need to).  Just because what I write seems dark, it doesn't mean I'm necessarily in a dark place.  No need to be worried.  It's just poetry.  Please dont' ask me to explain it.  I won't.

circle of stones

she sat in a circle of stones, 

of shadows and shards i

n the secrecy of darkness 

and her soul cried out...

she sat huddled 

under a rough blanket

peering at the scene around her

and her soul cried out...

she sat in the circle of silence

no more would they cry in hunger.

no more shiver with cold, 

never again scream in fear

or look up with expectant hope.

she heard the silence 

and her soul cried out...

she sat in the circle

of the night of her creation day

and smelled the pungent sweetness of blood

and the searing stench of burned flesh

and fife and wood;

and her soul cried out...

she sat there shaking 

as their spirits became ghosts

before their tiny bodies

were even cold,

and her heart became hard as stone

but her soul cried out...

and today the bodies are gone,

the blood is washed, 

the grass grows clean. 

But she still sits in a circle of stones

gravestones.

and her soul cries out...

hbk