03-22-2015, 04:44 PM
There is a tumbling stone that carves its path into mud, squelching little trails
of sweat and blood and bathing itself in grime, pressing on
because its desire for that bubbling pool at the end of the road is so sweet,
so tantalising, that it cannot cling to the slippery soil and hold itself.
It hits the water with a splash, the oiled grime that coated it washed off
without another breath, along with the desire
now fulfilled…
but soon, the salt water burns the little bruises that litter its coarse form
and its soul burns, burns with the echo of pain that follows
that pleasure, and it sinks, that heavy stone, as the water rises up
in embrace and envelops it: together still, as on the horizon the sun
slips away into dark.
of sweat and blood and bathing itself in grime, pressing on
because its desire for that bubbling pool at the end of the road is so sweet,
so tantalising, that it cannot cling to the slippery soil and hold itself.
It hits the water with a splash, the oiled grime that coated it washed off
without another breath, along with the desire
now fulfilled…
but soon, the salt water burns the little bruises that litter its coarse form
and its soul burns, burns with the echo of pain that follows
that pleasure, and it sinks, that heavy stone, as the water rises up
in embrace and envelops it: together still, as on the horizon the sun
slips away into dark.
When it finally snows here, I'll catch a snowflake and put it in the fridge.