Sunday, May 15, 2016

The Haunting Stones

The Haunting Stones
((1997, non-fiction) (Stonehenge))

Standing in front of one of the megalith
colossal stones, at Stonehenge,
on the Salisbury Plain, in Southern England
I was awe-struck immediately—
A demonic face, ominously contorted appeared.
The longer I looked, the more sinister the impression.
The strange evil spirit was as if in despair,
imprisoned, caged in granite!
The imprint leered from the stone hatefully!
The spot where the hollow remained,
wore a macabre grimace.
I thought for a moment, it might even speak aloud.
The evil conveyed was outside humanity—
It was more ancient than the Bronze Aged stones,
this temple or shrine of sorts!
Perchance this unfamiliar spirit had grown hideous
because of his Mesolithic old world age.
After a long staring in silence
equally includible and sinister was that the face
which grew hypnotically if not actually more robust…
The lower portion of the stone was haunted likewise
with shadowy lords of hell: they
were also looking at me with malediction.
The stone and impressions, the color of gray-rats,
with a blustering flame in its curvatures.
But never anything like the face.
All frightful entities, night-bird spirits, whom serve
Servitor for the damned?
I asked the keeper, “Can you see faces in these
“No,” he said almost begrudgingly,
“but a few select other folk can!”
“Maybe it’s haunted!” I said as if in half jest.
To him, it was of no disquiet.
As I walked away to my bus, of tourists, I looked back
towards the stone with the face in it—
(out of the tail end of my eye, —my peripheral vision)
The image was tracking me, like a wolf to blood.
Then the image melted into the miry granite.

It remains after nineteen-years an infernal mystery,
perhaps not to be solved.
The place its self has a horde of entities of its own—
scrutinizing, and an indwelling personality
I do believe.
It’s there like a soul of a devil.
But I can’t pin it down, or touch it!
I’m not superstitious, but I know this world exists.
It’s just not an odd phenomena in my time.
Traveling throughout the world, this was not
the first time some particular spot I’ve visited, that
I’ve come face to face with an inimical nature
of this sort.
The difference here was, whatever it was, was
hatefully aware, watchful!
It is in essence, a cul-de-sac.

#5238/5-11 & 12-2016