The Man Of Stones

His eyes were red and teary so,

Nothing he said could be heard.

They all called him a crazy soul,

As he walked with a bag of stones

He dearly loved.

They watched him fall,

And tear his skin,

The pavement marks his bloody path.

When asked why he walks with such heavy things,

He only said

They were close to his heart.

So he tread with pain,

And an arched back,

Always hurt, but never shown.

They said it was because he had forgotten,

That he was only a man of flesh and bones.

I think they missed his eager eye,

Always hoping for that final stop.

Somewhere he could place his rocks and sigh,

Relieved that he could finally rest his thighs.

Alas! They found him on the ground,

Buried under the weight of his dear stones.

They mourned the fool,

And cursed at his ill fate,

Feigning some care and compassion.

But never saw the peaceful smile,

That blessed his face.

That lay forgotten.

That lay forgotten.

The poem is about carrying your dreams, no matter how heavy it is and even it burns you away.