Stonehenge

There you stand,
a tribute to those who built you,
in stoic defiance of time
you look on Ozymandias with scorn.

Shrouded in mystery
as much as in clouds and mist,
they truly have no idea
why you are there.

What could possibly motivate
an ancient people
to move such monolithic slabs
across such a great distance,
erect them on this plain
in such a precise pattern
as this?

When your makers
didn’t know
where their next meal
would come from
why would they choose
rather than gathering or hunting
to drag your bones
across the hills
and breathe you into being?

They say they don’t know
what purpose
you might have held
but why else
would you be here
if you were not the result
of some religious endeavor?
You are the manifestation
of belief. Of faith.

You stand proud against the test of time
as many wish they could:
Your stones are wise with age,
the veil of moss seen as sacred.
They say that faith can move mountains.
You know it to be true.