Melbourne Candid Series #1295 Flagstaff Garden

 

Beneath the white pavilion’s quiet span,
They stand aligned, their faces turned away,
With shoulders set as ancient rhythms ran
Through stone and fire at break of ritual day.

A crown of feathers breaks the muted air,
Dark plumes like rays from some forgotten sun;
Each quill a memory worn with solemn care,
Of empires lost, yet never truly done.

The metal glints upon the woven breast,
Cold silver shaped by hands that knew the gods;
It bears the weight of oath, of trial, of test,
Of earth once fed by blood and marked by rods.

They do not speak. Their silence holds command.
The past stands breathing in their measured pose.
Time bends, obedient to their stance and hand,
As history in living motion flows.

O watcher, learn what stillness dares to teach:
That roots run deep where footsteps touch the ground;
What ages take away, the body keeps
In dance, the lost are found, the dead resound.

Sony A7RV

FE 135mm f1.8 GM

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