Rough, not smooth, not even the ages have worn you down.
I walk passed you.
I wonder about your stories.
I wonder what you have seen, heard.
The ravages of war.
The secrets of soldiers.
I can feel the history etched into your depths.
I wish I could speak to you.
I wish I knew the language of stone.
So you could tell me what you have seen and heard
The guardian wall that has stood around this city.
You have harbored kings and queens, soldiers and scholars, people…friends and foes.
You stood when so many other buildings fell beneath the enemies cruel hands.
History is your walls, it is in the core of your stone.
I walk by…
My fingers linger on the feeling of the wall,
The precise squares, the grout, the past.
I feel ignorant and small, like a colorful butterfly pausing on a flower in a spring breeze…
Passing, passing…only lingering for this moment.
Only touching a tiny part of something so much larger…only tasting a drop of what you have to offer.
History, beauty, riches, locked away in stony silence.
I see the brilliance of your designer.
I feel the safety he created within your walls.
You are making me hungry, hungry for knowledge for words I do not know…for the stories you will not tell.
Oh, if I could only speak to stone.
If walls could talk…
I lean against you, wishing I could hear your stony core beat with life.
You are silent.
Holding all the secrets of the past.
Holding tightly what it has left you.
History and stories, and people long gone.
You are the keeper of secrets.
You are silent stone.
|Hwaseong Fortress Korea
(found on google, not my image, I own nothing)