By Charles E S Fairey
Out on the silent desolate moor
Stand a group of standing stones on a tor,
Looking out across the endless desert of green,
Where the ancients worshipped and did dream.
Aligned with the magic of the moon,
And the sun on Midsummer's noon.
Situated on a ley line with an ancient cross,
Church, hill fort, roman road and foss.
Magical energy protruding from the stone guards,
A road leading to them made from flint shards.
An aura of sacred mystical enlightenment,
Druids revelling in the man's sacrificial hour of torment.
The stones electromagnetic energy
With nature acting harmoniously,
A monument to Mother Nature,
The gods will see this great sculpture.
A satellite to transport souls
Through the dark cosmic holes,
To other worlds not yet seen
Only in a prophetic dream.
Centre of Ley Lines,
Where a holy procession of souls shine,
The great journeys across the abyss,
The never-ending story after the deadly kiss.
The ancients created a concentric circles zone
Where people would bury dead bone,
The greater the person, the nearer to the monument,
The souls greater sacred ascent.
Churches have taken their place,
A similar device to relay souls across space,
Their ascending towers and spires
And the worshippers singing in their choirs.
The ancient monuments a tremendous task,
So sacred historic energy, the people ask
Why and how they came to be,
When they were built as a mirror of the starry sea.
Such monuments as Stonehenge
And the historic Avebury henge,
Other monuments like the Great Pyramid,
Higher the spirits ascend, now as they always did.