Adorned on a large stone
a strange Celtic pattern presides.
Engraved aeons ago by men of mystic understanding.
They celebrated mid winter with virtuous synchronicity,
chanting incantations towards this whirlpool of infinity,
set to entice, connive and raise spiritual awareness.
Each spiral, inescapably drawing the eye to the centre.
Simplistic, yet visually very powerful in form,
it summons inter-dimensional thought.
I go in search, only to find incomprehension.
It's not what I am seeing, it's what is being seen.
I look again,
and feel I have moved closer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem