Friday, April 17, 2015
Stones (poem by Dorothy)
Stones
(for all who make the pilgrimage overland to Petra, ancient city in Jordan, carved from stone)
No one knows
how many
have made this journey
before us.
Thousands, maybe,
Arabs, Muslims,
Jews.
Some say even Abraham
in his wanderings
passed this way,
across the deserts,
through the rocky cleavage
that became the city of stone.
How beautiful they were,
carved from legendary
forms
of Greek facades,
Roman sculpted fronts.
Columns, portals,
whole civic rooms
hewed from sand,
stolen from
the mountain side.
We were awed to think
we now were journeyers
to this ancient
now forsaken place,
wanderers seeking
to reconnect,
to feel what it was like
to dwell amidst such energies,
such craft of these ancient
ones,
now awakened
and speaking to us
once again,
whispering secrets
in our ears.
Dorothy Walters
April 16, 2015
(for all who make the pilgrimage overland to Petra, ancient city in Jordan, carved from stone)
No one knows
how many
have made this journey
before us.
Thousands, maybe,
Arabs, Muslims,
Jews.
Some say even Abraham
in his wanderings
passed this way,
across the deserts,
through the rocky cleavage
that became the city of stone.
How beautiful they were,
carved from legendary
forms
of Greek facades,
Roman sculpted fronts.
Columns, portals,
whole civic rooms
hewed from sand,
stolen from
the mountain side.
We were awed to think
we now were journeyers
to this ancient
now forsaken place,
wanderers seeking
to reconnect,
to feel what it was like
to dwell amidst such energies,
such craft of these ancient
ones,
now awakened
and speaking to us
once again,
whispering secrets
in our ears.
Dorothy Walters
April 16, 2015
