There must something, something
Mysterious at least about the stones,
A frozen velocity, a flight somehow
Fallen from between the wings…
They have a story behind them,
They’re just a bit heavier than the dry bones…
They aren’t just crushing
Those ocean waves in vain!
Somehow you feel there’s a language smoldering,
Petrified moments, forgotten pain.
If you are hungry enough you can speak them into bread,
They could be much more than you can think about,
You can count them twelve by twelve
And build an altar,
Or just do nothing so they can cry out…
Slavomir Almajan's Blog 