Memories lost in Stone.

Of Gargoyles that were once your own.

It was to odd fly across the Great Pond, and walk the streets so old where in this life I had never been.

Yet these old places cry out to me, in a secret and psychic voice.

Old friend old friend, you're back at last and you still know us oh rejoice rejoice.

And as so many ancient memories all at once begin, to call to me across the seas of time.

Soon the tears well up in the eyes, as I stare at what others can not see.

Oh Goddess, dear friends did I even live long enough back then say goodbye?

Then my local guide turns and looks at me oh so queer.

Wondering why would this stranger looking at these old stones seem to cry.

 

The Druid King

Thinking of days a few years ago in Munich when I had a real job.

Copyright 03-15-2012 George King

Words: Written in a ink of beach colored sand.

 Your pearls cast upon the sands are as hard to find as yesterdays tide.

So write in stone and as cold as it may be, tomorrows heart may kiss the stone.
Bringing your words to light and life for yet another day.

 Even as your Muse sees the world through glasses made of tears.

And cat crying at your leg is like a hungry baby in your ears.
Yet our hearts soulful truths we really must not hide.

 For Life and and Love will come again like the never ending tide.

As long as the Goddess Moon lights our nights and is our guide.

The Druid King

 Copy Right 02-13-2012 George King