To the silent heart of a stone

I told the story to the stone
to get some coldness to deaden my soul

"YESTERDAY I saw a number of crows wish that
God might bring ill upon humanity.
AS soon as the thought grew inside, a hundred
shocks of electric time from the nearby
standing poll met the crow with a spell. THE crow
hung still. SOCIETY to him render'd his zeal
to a classic saga, called obituary.

MY eyes suddenly dropped elsewhere. SAW I
a child draw milk with his lips fastened
to the udder of a cow.
DISCOVERED I some glistening drops of mica
in her eyes that bore with patience that
the unseen calf, killed and dead by now."

I retold the story to the stone
to get some coldness to deaden my soul

Re-retold the story to the stone
and got some coldness to deaden my soul

2 comments:

lakeviewer said...

Something stops the telling; the coldness of the stone is all we are left with.

This is a heavy message,

A Restless Mind With A Sensitive Heart! said...

wish everyone could deaden their soul with coldness, for some it still hurts.

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