The Rocks Don'T Bore Me

I tell you the rocks don’t bore me. Unlike other cognizant beings with their endless stories, Droning on about their mindless vapid glories. I find myself scrambling to be free, All the while wondering what the plotline to these tales could be. But go the highest mountain or hill, And find at its summit, a rock or stone. One that is forlorn and alone. And if you have time to kill, Imagine for a second, if you want a new thrill. Consider the pebble in your hand, That once floated at the bottom of the sea. If it could describe the scene, what would it be. Its stories would not be bland, speaking of the anthropods in the sand. And if it had eyes to see, It would speak of the jaws of the earth, biting with force. And up the mountain went on its course. Up, up it was thrust into the skies. And with the ocean it was forced to break ties. But put your ear to the stone, and it makes no sound. This witness on the mighty peak, has no ears to hear, no eyes to see, no mouth to speak. In silence it is bound. The treasures it knows, will never be found. I tell you the rocks don’t bore me. Mankind is surely cursed. In banalities we are submersed. You have a voice, and I’ve forgotten your anecdotes already. The rocks have no voice, so I’m left wondering relentlessly.