I awake to darkness.
Cold damp slabs of stone
on all four sides, and above.
In time I see the faint glow
as granite is pressed upon
by the tons of earth above me.
I feel the random shards of quartz
pulse in unison.
Beside me lies a flawless greenstone axe,
never used in labour, or in anger.
I wail a banshee wail,
but beyond, the moor is dark and vast, devoid of man.
And the chill wind blows
through the hooting carn
camouflaging my efforts.
There is no escape.
I lie in a foetal position and shiver,
and await my death.
Finally, the juddering ceases.
The body lies still,
and time hangs on a single heartbeat.
The darkness expands, and with it time.
I see my bones dissolve in the acid liquor.
I see men who wallow in abundance
and pillage for more.
I see a time when knowledge is a commodity
to be jealously guarded,
then sold to the highest bidder.
I see the bare bones
of the granite quoit
toppled and forlorn.
I see the axe no more.

Chris Bond, 25 February 2001.