This one needs some work.



Peter

Silhouettes of mountain against dark sky
slumbering great giants who wait
to wake at the end of time.
Will they speak of what they dream?
Of diamond lighted nights
whispering into dove soft dawns
and honey dewed mornings?
Of anvil headed cumuli breaking in the distance
a monstrous clash of titans
knashing their teeth to break the world but unable
even to disturb in the slightest the giants' sleep.
Do they feel the tears of the sky?
The caresses of the sun?
And if they do, do they care?
Can it penetrate their craggy hearts?
Or are they judging coldly
our frenzied scurrying across their timeless haunts.
They will wake at the end of time,
but what answers lie there?