I am the rock
Water shapes me, laps at my skin and molds what I perceive.
From inside my rock-ness I see only darkness, hearing everything, and caring nothing at all for what I hear.
The only sound that concerns me is the water; the only thing that affects me is the water.
And I sink.
I roll, and I am moved, always within the singlemindedness of the water.
I change, exist, sustain, and petrify. I am violence in stupor, resting death.
I am a block not yet discovered, a step one cannot take until the water is finished with me.
I am a rock, therefore nothing and anything, therefore imagination in silence.
Water shapes me, it asks me to change to curve to become.
The water, the mason, and the sculptor can change me at will,
but in substance I will always be less than I was, and never again natural in my existence.
Only those who gaze on me or use me can give me value or purpose.
Yet I was content to be a rock.