Tall Stones

How did they come to be?
Here.
In this place.

These silent watchers.
Gathered in awesome presence.
Awaiting the passage of aeons.

No one knows.
None can say,
With any certainty.

Oh, yes. Many have their answers.
The grave children, at play in their gowns
And bearing their summer garlands.

But they're wrong.
Mere sport for the ages.
Mere foolish diversions.

These.
These know, but are silent.
They have no need to say.

I will think upon them,
When my time comes,
And the world begins to fall away.

Perhaps as I prepare for my final sleep,
As strange visions hover before my eyes,
They will appear to me and answer
My final
"Why?"