Little beastie
Fearsome in is proud mantel
Scales of multi-colours
Wings of thinnest hair netting
Squashed so its guts spilled out
Trodden under foot of exploring geologists
In their rush did they find the rock was still there?
Did they try to squeeze Life out too from that?
Like blood from a stone
I don’t care
Skin and bone and hair that is where life is
We are like hurricane hunters chasing after
Something that is already dead
This is red, that is not
Time is not dead though
Time ages and we can only remind ourselves of by how much
Of by how unimportant our lives are by looking at Rock
Hard, never blinking, always staring no matter what
Rain gets in its eye,
Like Heroes of the old world
They survive or don’t quite out last everything
Slowly decaying eroding
She held this fledgling in her hand
Like it was more precious than all
The Rocks of time and the world
As a giant holds a seed
Or a mother her child
That they know will grow into a flower
Then upon a rock she placed it
Ticking, for the seconds of its life
And let the fairy nymphs of the river
Have its body
