The oak agreed to lend its soul,
its massive trunk took me across
the river wild to reach my goal:
your hand in mine, and for the gloss
of polished bronze, a wedding gift
adorned your arms, to tie our bands
of man and wife. So when I lift
the heavy stone and with my hands
I carve that image from my mind
that day of joy before you died,
and now we cry, we’re left behind.
The oak and I, have lost our bride.
Today Abhra have Poetics at dVerse, and he want us to take a piece of art from history (for instance from our part of the word). My piece of art is from the world heritage of Tanumhede, of prehistoric petroglyphs. These were made during the bronze age but there is all type of speculation of why they where made, maybe just to be able to tell stories of things that have happened. Maybe they were used to relate stories of what had happened, and maybe stories where told and sung to those pictures.
August 11, 2015