EDGE
- 5 hours ago
- 1 min read
By Matt Mellor
The sheer stone is far from silent.
Broad waves – like words – wash definitions into me,
meeting my meat.
Telling sinews and fibers not to bother.
Taunting joints and bones about outlasting them.
The profound emptiness of trying,
widened by the futility of resistance.
My tears aren’t mine alone,
they fall from countless others.
Echoes of a pain that raged here.
Lashed out and burst over the rocks.
A red wave. A crimson squall.
My face outlasted or came after them.
And this sheer face will outlast mine.