Immovable stones, these people are.
Anchored to them, am I.
Feeling the sweet, salty breeze,
And joining the rhythmic crashing of the waves.
Longing to take flight, but willing to settle for just a brief sail.
The gentle tugging, sad and painful musings,
with the tic tock, clink clank, eventually giving way to anxious (scratch that- ancient) and violent games of tug-o-war.
Pulling, pulling with fever pitch at my thin and leathery skin.
Winding down, winding down, felt all the way to my bones.
Omniscient and benevolent Creators are keeping score.
But me, I do not know, cannot know, by which way I succumb.
Only that this blood red, painted passion is my destiny.
