Stone

The rolling hills draw in the rocks to form a natural quarry
A coliseum of hardened shards
Sat, waiting to fall from the edge of the world
Do they remember what it was to feel soft?

The rain falls in the distance
Dark, angry clouds seeming to follow folk around
While we’re bathed in a narrow window of sunshine
Combing our hair with every gust of wind

I want to take to the rocks, disperse their molecules
Swim amongst them like a sea of marbles
My legs clattering off the edges
Soaked to the skin in old DNA
I wonder if any of it is related to me

I disturb the bedrock as I delve down
Brittle, squashed bodies, crushed into smaller pieces
A restructuring process
Grinding fine grains of dust

But by then we’ll not remember how angry we were
How a lifetime of poverty has left our tastebuds ill-equipped
To experience pleasure from our hardened seats
Blank faces, pulled under

Waiting for each layer to be stripped
By the microscopic lifeforms that continue to live
What they cannot ingest will, one day, be exhumed
So that some distant creature can, with certainty, conclude

That we used to swim and breathe amongst the stone ruins

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Stone

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