Stones on 11/29/09 at 06:17:57 PM

There's a display case

That we all carry around.

This is the burden we proudly hold:

Our hordes of gold and gems,

Our pebbles, and 

Our tools:

Our handaxes, our flints, 

And our knives.

But there are other, secret stones.

There's a chest we hold inside

Where we horde our secret stones.

Some stones are light as air.

They float on top, ready to be seen

At the instant the chest is opened.

Anyone who asks might see them,

But they crumble at a single touch.

And inside we horde our silver,

Tarnished by the stale air,

Waiting to be cleaned

And displayed again.

There are stones of vibrant red,

Pretty in the daylight

Which we hide:

They are poison to the touch,

Waiting to be cast away.

But some stones glimmer only in the dark.

With a lustre that betrays their nature

Marring our secret chest

They offer nothing as they sit,

Black gold,

Waiting to burn and provide

Their dying light.

This is the burden we carry

In our chests.

Every stone,

From the tainted to the pure.

Every gem,

Every tool:

This is the burden we bear.