Extensive dreams of shine and hopes of stunning shimmer,
frozen antifreeze immersed in earth is still waiting to glimmer.

I should have been a bone cold stone,
long interred under loam

But hard and smooth, was turfed by toe
which flinched from flint, then chose

Preferring to secrete me in warmer pocket,
as hard forged ingot found

Then bound to the neck, deep in locket,
as is the want, to be worn around.

A better fate is this, than being long
in bone interred, under lost ground

Dark and hulking,
patient just beneath the sparkling water,
a weight of eons rearing up from darker depths,
crowned with garnet,
mountain-solid underneath
swaying forests of green-brown kelp
and irresistible high tide.

Red furrows plowed into the pale clay
Grow into mounds of silver stones.

Centuries worn into bleak landscape
ancient markings roughly hewn,
the cutting stone
still holds a deathly charm.

The pitiful broken stone rolled down silently,
this same, once was a real rock.
Now he'd let some hot showers free,
to tell volumes of grief untold.

Electromagnetic energy replete in heat not light
encompasses as a hot blanket as gravity is fought.
Heat rises and the stone awaits its fury.
Time, pressure and heat are all.

The grapevine yielded a most salacious fruit.

Plaintive cries of want and challenge drift through misted wood and meadow