A Gray World

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Ancient boulders wait,
hopeful
for their Stonehenge
tryouts that will never come
On their coffee-grounds mountain
Colossal trees huddle
like football players
at a game
the cobblestone riverbed stands solitary,
stuck on guard duty once again
I hike up
its tired, lowly surface
swords of sunlight thrust before me,
fiercely glinting across
the lichen-filled shadows,
showing my mere humanity
I realize
I belong in this gray-slate world
where time has no meaning
and old boulders wait,
eternally unchanged





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