The Braile of Cobblestone

The Braille of Cobblestone Keeper of darkness, of auras reaped from high seas, vast is your harvest of earth rumblings beset by molten tears to charred obsidian made hard glass. Such reflects primate-memory once clamored upon by man and beast running, dodging blade and spear as wash water dumped from windows high added slippery footing for predators ever lustful, ever hungry, ever historic. At the high noon of one’s life, we wonder among your melodies amidst recent fabrications lining your path. you the wrinkled skin of ancient masons serve sunbaked feasts from the past of pasts. Your micro-canyons of irrigated seed and drift send spirits aloft from grasses high, reminding us that while calendars may crumble, your stone of old remains young, transcending the language of vowel and consonant, acknowledging the touch of phantom eye to eye, even whispered touches beneath a Nike sole speaking the tongues of old, echoing the murmurs of felled travelers, the severed limbs of warriors, the rivers of passion red, polishing fossils within. Still… Others would fake Nature's setting, even make ready counterfeit copies to pacify the blind living without preference. Such serpentine monsters of ignorance whose Gucci laced feet now prance upon your offspring sold into bondage, interspersed among the fakery having not a clue of the Carthaginians or Mediterranean isles of oar-navigated ports. For like Rodeo Drive's cobblestone plazas, where modern slavery prisons of today masquerade as knockoffs once authentic for tomorrow, your history is reaching fade out, sans your hidden messages, your quiet cacophony of silence made orchestral for those who can hear, those who dare see through the darkness, those who can be moved and touched by the brail of cobblestone.