Stone. Cold. Sober.

I - Stone

Flecked. Fissured. Fickle.
Toughen my toes
By tickling them.
Something afoot,
Heel it.
Crack the code
Of the millennia,
Drop by drop,
A yoke around
Your neck.
Swim, don't sink.
Begin. Believe. Beware.
Turn your sharp angles
Skyward and open
Your stony heart
To chisel the infinite air.

II - Cold

Staccato. Stasis. Stuck.
Edges mostly submerged,
Beyond your ken and patience
To linger here struck
By a dumb block,
Bottom-heavy,
With an alarmingly gargantuan
Base, deaf and mute and still.
But some days beautiful
at rest, the part exposed,
Carved a perfect dull square,
Yet split and splintered,
The same immovable snooze.

III - Sober

No matter.
Long after you are gone,
Night and day, hot and cold,
You will make a pile of dust by then.
And the stone will still stand.
You caught it here, though,
In the roughest of edges.
You talked of the rock.
The rock remains.
You roll on.