Tis an endless task
To which I am bound...
Placing a label on a box
When the contents constantly shift.
And even equipped with a thesaurus -
A plethora of synonyms
Never quite enough
Never quite exact.
And somewhere I think I might have lost my voice...
But is it a choice?
I stamp it,
Place it in the darkest, farthest corner
And still it resurfaces...
Have the contents changed...
Or have I?
But in stillness, anger throbs.
It may be useful... This time.
I begin my motionless strike.
You know what I want.
You give me the letters but not the word,
Never the whole.
You fill me with yearning,
And no reward for patience...
While so many of them stand
Blind to the blessings of the myth they exist within,
Blind to the frost of delusion's polar exterior.
Yet in this icy stillness,
Patience alone will reign.
For there will be no step,
They say do not challenge the Gods.
You want nothing more from me than a stone does...
And even as I toss that stone into a vast ocean,
Watching it bounce on the surface
Before it sinks into unreachable blackness -
There must be meaning,
My mind echoes your laughter at my toil,
But even this,
When the waters finally still...
If I reflect your impeccable immobility,
Your unyielding insensitivity...
I may find
That I too,
am made of stone.