HOLY STONES: Jerusalem 1996

     Stones weep, red the tears,

paving dead end roads,

building walls to echo

self spoken courtesies.

     Rocks whisper timid amens

in after shock,

counterfeit peace

to shattered ear drums.

     Pebbles pulsate with

creatures' longing,

waiting at highway intersections,

or road end.

     Blocks pray a mute litany

of creation's intention,

sifting through hourglass

sand to the bottom.

     Gravel moans orbital music

repeating melodies of grace

to angry, blind,

deaf listeners.

     Petra pant the fugue

of death, cradling corpses

till a Sabbath dawn

of acceptance.

     Dust awaits The Architect's

scheme, lifted by flaming winds

forming Thomas's blocks of

reasons to believe.

Richard E. Lake