Stonehenge

The ancient ring of stone, now ever-present
In our imaginations, still perplexes us.
Its purpose yet unclear, we scurry anxiously
Through it, over it, around it, ever seeking
Some small piece of a puzzle lost
Through eons spent becoming more ourselves
And putting off our awkward adolescence.
What did we do there? Who did we do it to?
Did once we have a knowledge, crucial knowledge
That might provide this day with needed light
And end our worries, maybe teach us peace?
Perhaps our history holds a helpful key—
But maybe not. A ring of stone, no matter
What its age, cannot revive our spirits
Nor dampen all the evils deep within.
We will not find salvation in a stone.