Mountains of Stone
Mountains of stone,
We are mountains of stone.
Rocks to climb upon,
Jagged, crook, bare,
Parts tumbling away,
Grasping desperately,
At what we cannot bear.
Like pebbles at lakeside shores,
We slowly wash away,
More part of the current of things,
Than one to carry the flame,
Quashed by waters of day.
Skipping on stillness,
Only to fall,
Down to the depths,
Of what we recall.
Standing on vastness,
Only to be,
One with the ending,
The motionless sea.
The life that we are,
The loves that we keep,
Purified now,
By infinity deep.
Rivers of time,
We are rivers of time,
Yet so much more now,
Than the words of this rhyme.
Copyright © David A. Cain | Year Posted 2015
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