Militiaman

Stone holds promises in
its rigid spine.
Trace it with fingertips and
feel answers you once took
for silence
Now a pulsating through your
metacarpals, rhythmic proclamation
more than words or fleeting thoughts.
Man rocks the Earth when he is
made to wait.
Stone stands stoic, patient,
sedimentary lips bound in place
reading footfalls and breaths,
listening for centuries
-waiting for us to hear.
To see warriors don’t flee
when anchored to the Earth.

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