A man of stone, he keeps inside, All the things he seeks to hide, But underneath the stony skin, Stone without as stone within, Stone within as stone without, There's naught inside, he's hollowed out.
The heart still beats, the blood still flows, Is he alive? Nobody knows, Cold inside, beset by drought, What once he was, he once tore out, Or sealed off behind the stone, Now little more than flesh and bone.
A stony mask, to keep away, The questions that would come his way, A weighty mask, that wears him out, No breath to scream, no heart to shout, Trapped beneath the stone he wrought, Perhaps he gets just what he ought.
Sorry it's a little grim, just having one of those moods.
This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Oct 29 2013, 10:46 AM
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A mind without purpose will walk in dark places
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