by R.T. Allenson

..and then why so? Why does the heart in fleeting gestures, attempt to express what can be said in full? How ephemeral these emotions are, one day in excitation, the next in grim dolor.

And does the mind help; quite the contrary. When one speaks of feelings, one of logic – the sum of it is despair, confusion and many more. What better life to be than a simple machine, to be instructed what to do and what to feel. Craving nothing, aspiring nothing. A simpler life cannot be gained. By its contours, in steel machinations as simple as they are in contrast to our complex pulsations and awful viscera. If I must blaspheme and be called insane, then quite so shall I be called mad to wish to be nothing more than a simple stone on the road, or wherever the elements move me. A sentinel of time, seeing all, knowing all, but never craving for anything more.

Hurt and hurt, oh dreadful friction, oh bless my beating heart. But such are the travails of humanity, to know and feel and dream. Does a stone hurt when it hits the ground? Does a boulder know when it is about to fall? Does a rock feel when one grates it to another to produce fire? Does it dream? Or does it lay still,  asleep in eternal slumber? If I may happen to dream, myself as a lowly stone, shall I too be moved by what I see?  This I may never know. But if I may chance to dream, then maybe so. Shall I love the ground that cradles me? Shall I hate the man who throws me? Shall I long to walk and be free to move, to live and laugh and love?

I do not ask why it hurts to love, in the end to love is all I know. And that’s enough for me to live by. Love and love, oh dreadful friction, oh bless my beating heart.