Lost Secrets

A cold stone moves slowly,

If at all-to anyone,

Lifeless, hard, unfeeling,

An obstacle in their path

Whose existence shall soon

Slowly crumble away.

But inside this stone…life?

Who can tell? For perhaps

Here-there burns a furnace,

A toss’d ocean churning,

A broken vagabond

Tired of wandering.

His past? Who can recall?

For none have asked him.

Does a pearly world

Spin inside the oyster

Of such boulders as these?

If beaten, locked clam-

Chest were forced open

Shall we find dust only?

Dust, and a paper scrap.

Faded, wrinkled, brown,

It cracks from the ages.

An idea immortal

As towering granite

Crumbles to mere nothing,

Nothing more than mere sand.


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