The Man of Stone

A man one heart, one gut, one brain carrying the bagful of unknow pains. A man, two eyes, two feet, two hands laying in the summer, under the burning sand. A man, cracks his five fingers and five toes, and somehow does not know the kinda sphere he lives in anymore. A man watching all over with fists held tight and straight hair turning grey. He could have seen it all, like paint draining off from a wall. It was cold ninety degrees fahrenheit but still felt like winter. A whole world of winter. No heart. No place in mind. No place for reliability No human kind No ears, a few eyes and a lot of mouths, exposed in the center of no where. For a man like this, has been punched through it all. A man facing acts unnecessarily and all a man could do is fight. Words cannot accept the work of our way, progress attracts the eye, bring people to you. Around the cliff, see who will come closer. Hence no place for reliability. No place to hold a bond. A man with his own amendments and rules, tryna make his own life, a life at school. He is moving at the front of the road driving his way of growth. If life could be a mess, he is playing the intolerant game. The world would train him with all the power against the trash recycled in the world each day. Life will still stay green and clean, but will not change the version of me, the version of that man.