Stone

—The road side thinker— For ejected by the absolute that is inviolable and unknowable, alone, only alone the stone; who was born in a gap of rocks at the unknown foot of a mountain, built a hut named oblivion faced to the setting sun by a roadside. For the solitary homeless wanderer’s sake the stone; neither trihedral, nor cubic, nor spherical, nor polyhedral, ever had the glory of monarchical supremacy nor had decay of a reed in the marsh, that necessarily should have been, at least once, for everyone. The stone; who has no form, now, sits along the roadside watching the setting sun, while masticating bitter wormwood’s aroma that alone is lofty for a price of annual rings grew from a compelled, unwilling heart. For all the deplorableness, for all the poverty, the stone; not trihedral, not cubic, not spherical, not polyhedral, denies the brilliance of a colorful rainbow repudiates the elegance of the nobility refuses affection that is to be showed off.