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Stones...
Are real...
With much feel...
Solid... unmoving...
The feel of real...
But... stone.
Stones...
Make mountains...
And cities...
And fortresses...
They hold back
And keep in...
They have power
But... are stone.
Stones...
Hold down...
And support...
Stones are tools.
But... stones do not breathe...
Or hurt...
Or define joy...
They beget no life of their own.
They don't feel time or season.
They care not even for themselves...
Neither failing nor rising...
They do not define life...
Only stone.
Stones...
Like life...
Crumble...
And others will rise.
Stones...
Wear the wind and water on their face...
Feel the gravity of space...
Serve a humble purpose...
Are what they are...
Quite well...
But stone.
Put a face on a stone
And you can envision a life...
But its face is cold and unchanging,
Locked in and captured.
It doesn't sleep or awaken...
Change or apologize...
Or become greater.
Shall life imitate stone?
Can a stone imitate life?
Only presumptions give stones
The face of eternity...
As... stone is not eternal...
Life... is eternal...
Forever renewed.
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