another try at the sketchy new thing’s opening

Once upon a time an easygoing sort
sat on a rock in a meditative style,
meaning he appeared to have no urgent purpose
and whether he was content or saddled
with an invisible yoke of guilt
is impossible to verify as the moment
and the scene happened in such a distant recess
of history and besides the easygoing
sort’s face was given to the river where the rock
had lived for so many thousands of that world’s
years and having lived on that spot
for so many thousands of that world’s years,

the rock had learned a lot about true
toleration as Rock had to tolerate
creatures – some whose brains were small and others
not quite as small – tolerate creatures
crawling all over it or stopping to squirt waste
which didn’t hurt Rock at all because Rock’s true
nature existed beneath the dense substance
the beings in those days and of that world
identified in their minds as a rock;
oh and now and then a traveler
would wander by and find the visual
the river presented as worthy

of taking a seat and the traveler
would settle full backside weight on the rock
and this happened enough times over
the thousands of years that Rock learned to accept
that Nature had decided it should have no say
in these matters just like Rock was to have no say
in the matter of the place Nature
assigned it which was to live a motionless
existence next to a river of which
the segment the rock lived next to was
a quiet and calm segment so never had much
to say but was content to slowly flow.


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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