Stonehenge

This is a poem about Stonehenge. Those stones that no one really knows how they got there, and can only speculate why they were built.

To give this poem some context, whilst undertaking the research to write this poem, I came across something I didn’t know, commonwealth soldiers trained at Stonehenge, to fight in World War 1.

A place of intrigue. Stories left untold.
Lost in time. Forever. Mystical powers and
magical moments, a powerful testament
to the might of creativity.

Captivating. Enthralling. Bewitching.
A place of love and romance.
Beautiful sunrises and amazing sunsets.
Moody skies. Simply mesmerising.

But, beware of what lies beneath.
What surrounds the stones.
Storytellers share the beguiling.
They lure you in.

Entice you to step inside the ‘inner circle.’
If you listen carefully, you can hear the
voices whisper, come closer.
You can hear children crying. The women wailing.

You can hear the men preparing to go to war.
To fight for king and country.
It never stops. Does it?
It never stops.