I think of stone.
A stone that has seen thousands of thunderstorms, and has seen king after new king.
I see rocks that have been a silent witness to culture following culture,
Stones that quietly gaze down on city, farm, and town.
I see stone that has been used for fortresses to keep out,
Hearths to invite in,
Walls to hold back,
And roads to push away.
Picks and dynamite.
Something as temporal and fleshy as man
Molding the immortal and timeless, this outcrop.
What I see is a stone, a rock, a boulder, a monolith
That will be there long after its descriptions decay
And those who look on it in wonder die.
Our buildings made of you will change hands,
Change purpose, crumble under the weather and turn to dust.
Castles cannot keep you out,
Cathedrals cannot keep you in.
When I am gone all that will be left is stone.
Nick
4 comments:
Sometimes I wish that we could be a stone. They are stong, can withstand almost anything, and can't get hurt. This poem is very inspiring to me. It's really cool! Awesome job!
~Rachel
I have no clue what monolith is man your to smart for me. I like this because it is one of the only things that will still be around when we are gone and dead.
Mark
...that is kind of sad actually. I don't know if you meant for it to be but I thought there was a lot of meaning to this.
-Kesha :)
thats cool thats the same way i feel about the song
i hate the way music hides there meaning
ps. i like to sing
billy
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