On an ancient seat of power

On an ancient seat of power
my learning would dictate I should view a throne,
I watch the current below in solitude,
but I know that I am not alone.

A meeting place, or gateway to the forest's shrouded womb?
Or a majestic weathered marker
of some geomancer's hoary tomb?
Moss fills indentations
arranged in strangely intentional forms:
calculations of tribal tradesmen
or mere marks the windborne rain has worn?

What hunters have here burnt their kill and blessed it by the sun?
What soldiers lay their hatchets here before their nameless glory won?
An altar of eldritch sacrifice and rites of aging men;
Here ran deep tears for the dead, here wolves made their den.
Time-racing breeze, thy servants sing; the branches are your sea.
Each living ear that passed this place has heard this before me.
Time is fluid, as the muddy current washing by;
every mind that graced this throne is standing here, as I.
I view each face and know each heart this ancient place has known
since Panthalassa gave her ghost, revealing this archaic throne.