Easter Island

A single row
of moai statues
from massive ahu platforms
out beyond a cloudless coast
their landscape now
arid and treeless.

They face the sea and wait
for no one in particular.

The old ones have long since passed over
their silence roars like a canon.

Traces of their language
frame an obscure curtain
as one face cracks
crumbling at the chin.

Tiny shards slowly release
the life-force that plummets
towards the jagged rocks below
taking old knowledge and forgotten history
along for the ride. Hammered and
lost at the bottom
by conflicting views
and swept away at last
by the raging sea.

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