Out from the core
squeezed stone hearts,
so heavy of feet,
Lumbered on forward,
pumping and pounding, expounding
irregular beat.
Into the cities,
forests, villages,
the glens,
Trudging their muck,
gravelling paths
as they went.
New tablets hewn,
eschewing
natural will,
Passed to the future
legacies voided
then stilled.
Surveyed, as proprietors,
creative accountancy
sighed,
Despoiled, exhausted,
replenishment
hidden inside.
Back to their bothies,
striding inwards
shelter’d from storm,
Trolls suited
underground,
awaiting new time to be born.
scottishmomus 
Mysterious indeed! To me this speaks of the march of conformity, fuelled by controlling forces, as they seek to crush individuality and the creative spirit. Mind you, I have been known to be wrong! Intriguing work, Anne-Marie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Definitely yes on the controlling forces, Chris. I see them as stone hearts distorting and destroying natural law for reasons of their own, then going underground to refuel when they have exhausted current supplies. Mountain trolls, if you will. And they most certainly would seek others to conform, creativity being anathema to their plans. Part of my book. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person