Standing Stones

A Poem

133

Here, amid the shadows

of resolutely standing stones,

In moonlight too indifferent

to reveal inscriptions,

And in the company and compassion

of conjured ghosts

Who have for so long been toying

with my thoughts,

I should dance above their rest

to acknowledge–celebrate

­Those, my benevolent kin,

who would remember me,

The family clown,

who -quipped with clever words

Spoken to elicit laughter

from all too serious them.

With few reservations, I will

join their serious silence, soon

­Follow into impartial ground

With just a hint of breathing breeze

stirring through a few dead leaves,

And the moon and I, each in our way,

contesting dark’s supremacy,

I reminisce on those I miss

betokened by these standing stones.

Now, laden with my flippancy,

and with my joking turned to groans,

I am alone … and still amusing

only when pitied in laughter’s tones.

A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.

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