Listening Stones

Listening Stones. These mossy stones put on top of each other…a wall. green plants sprouts out of them like ears, do they hear my whisper of compassion? Guarding small plots of land no one tills anymore, where thieving sheep eat rare flowers without a second thought. One field is blood red of flowers that should end all wars. They sell the plastic variety for you to put on your lapel and show you remember the nameless soldier who fell on a grimy battle field with an unanswered question on his bloody lips. Old stones once you were children of the highest peak But the peak disappeared into sand, tired of it colossal weight. Look at you now, guardians of hidden beauty, you can stop nothing as rain grinds you into pebbles and dumb sheep continue grazing on rare flowers.