I rise where footsteps fade to dust, A silent keeper built on trust. No voice have I, yet still I speak Of hands long gone and power at peak. A shard of earth that dares the sky, A question cast in stone: But why? Am I a marker, grave, or throne, Or something meant to stand alone? Four sides I often choose to show, With edges straight and tip aglow. At dawn I stretch, at dusk I fall, A shifting shadow over all. Not quite a tower, not quite a spear, Yet both ideas may linger near. I pierce the heavens without a sound, A rooted spike in sacred ground. What am I, unmoved yet bold, A story carved in ages old?

I prefer mine not above me, as hydrogen made them deadly. If you go to music instead, I prefer theirs Led instead.

Coconut, almond, oat, soya, and pea, They all wished they could be like me, Once upon a time we all shared a name, Until the dairy farmers won sole claim

I carry my home on my back everywhere I go, On land I am slow, but in water I flow. My shell tells my age, like rings on a tree, And I've roamed the earth since before history. What am I?

I cast you out from the sacred fold, A severed branch in the bitter cold. No bread to share, no cup to drain, Your prayers are echoes, lost in pain. I close the gates of grace and light, And leave your soul to the deepest night. To the flock, you are a ghost unseen, By decree of the church, and the space between.