.Stones.

I carry a stone in my chest.
It's weight, and the cold of it,
drag me down.

If I could I would shed it-
give it back to the earth
it came from.

But it stays with me
and I bow beneath it.

I remember a day
when the stones were at my feet.
I walked upon them,
and they were warm.

I stoop low, and dig deep-
down into the earth.
At the bottom of my pit,
I find the stones.

Mourning the loss of their friend,
they have gone deep, and are cold.

My stone weighs me down
and I tumble into the earth.
Reunited with its brethren,
finally at home-
My stone begins to sing.

It falls from me
clinking against its home.
The weight of it gone,
I am lifted by the wind
and sail- open- to the surface.

My shadow gone, the sun strikes.
The stones are warmed, and vibrate.

If I could remember
just where to dig
I could find all the stones
the earth has been holding.
Deep in her arms,
I could lay all my stones to rest.

And she would recieve them
her children at last-
humming her lullabyes low.
And we would be lighter,
able to fly,
free of all our stones.

For we were never meant to carry
anything but bones.