Moving Mountains

I see you,
Flawed masonry,
Quibbling over pebbles,
Pushing life’s boulders uphill,
A sorry little Sisyphus,
Eroded and marred,

But I truly see you,
Unlike those with sand in their eyes,
There is yet seismic activity within you,
You are a tectonic force,
Wiping the smirks from cliff faces,
Making molehills of mountains,

There are alpine ranges in your path,
It’s true,
We all have our peaks to climb,
But keep true to yourself,
Be the tumult beneath the Earth,
And you’ll sweep them aside like so much dust.

The Cracks

Oh my the cracks,
The veins on a damaged soul,
The carnage within me,
Like tarmac ripping asunder,
Wounds in the earth,
Rent apart by every abusive tongue,

In a frenzy I try to fix them,
I fill them with plaster,
Placating words and self-assurance,
Yet still they seep through,
With all their dust,
And their bile,

They grow each day,
Cracks becoming chasms,
Exposing bone and glass shards,
Dark days growing into cyclones,
Sundering me ever further,
Until someday I fall apart altogether.

Excavation

As you keep driving on your way,
With your excavations,
The glories of your spelunking may be lavish,
Diamonds and rubies and platinum,
It may be all going your way,

But take note my friend,
Keep your pickaxe humble,
Beware of the stones you part,
They threaten to cave in,
Their gravity more than enough to destroy you,

The boulders whisper to one another,
The stalactites train their blades upon you,
Remember that life’s excavation can be deadly,
Keep your mining light low,
And stay humble.

Quarry Mind

Hiding in this sleeping quarry,
My mind is ore,
Hidden by a stony facade,
A rock face,
It’s not remotely precious,
Coal and iron and zinc comrades,
Merely one of a million,
Rough in a sea of diamonds,

Demons descend with their mining tools,
Clanging against my willpower,
Pickaxe climbing over pickaxe,
Chink after chink cleft asunder,
Mining for its own sake,
I know not why,
I am no treasure to them,
Not a gemstone,

Just a stone,
A pebble for the grinder.