The Secret that we Took from Stone
It was ours, we found it
Smoothed it from the crude rock,
It was beautiful and honest.
It grew out of raw stone as
Our fingers bled to find it.
We knew its form as ancient,
Primeval, idealised.
It was ours, we imagined it.
Chiselled our likeness
In its hard heart,
Lay down beside it
And listened
To its endless silence.
We made it our icon;
Our metaphor,
Our god,
Our headstone.
We lie beside it
still.
Copyright © Kevin Cadwallender 2014
Kevin Cadwallender has published many books of poetry, his most recent (with Aidan Halpin) being ‘The South Face of Groucho Marx’ (Red Squirrel Press)
The Open Mouse 