Old Stone
Why do I touch old chiseled stone,
of ancient temples far from home?
Why am I so compelled to roam?
I am withdrawn yet connected
somehow complete yet dissected
feeling content yet dejected
like a pharaoh without a throne.
Solace sought in the simple things
my heartstrings thrum with raven’s wings
the day won’t say what this night brings
perhaps hewn stone holds all that’s known.
I think it’s what brings me nearer
I can hear her so much clearer
my hand on hers like a mirror
with her I’m more than flesh and bone.
I know I roam to find her face
that I’ve not seen since I lost grace
perhaps her spirit’s in this place
in ancient lands that we once owned.
She is why I touch old stone
of ancient temples I bemoan
sanctuaries to which I roam
the closest I can get to home.
I wrote this poem in the form of an old Spanish Zejel.
