Classical Jazz '05



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. 


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Artist: Jeremy McCandlish
School: North Allegheny

One Sunday evening, I was bored and wrote this spontaneously.  I then tweaked it and tweaked it some more, and now I am submitting it here.  The tweaks I applied were purely aesthetic, so I'm not entirely sure if this is some deep, rich metaphor about life or a load of nonsense that sounds pretty in my head.  On the other hand, that's true of everything I say.

 Anyhow, first submission.  Critique, attack, criticize, decapitate, dissect, disembowel, defenestrate, do whatever you want with it.

Ticket info - call 800-555-1212