by Manuela Lunatmar
Memories of life
captured by black rock
way before we discovered how to freeze time.
you tremble in my hand,
Your memories are shaped in rock.
Small being, tell me,
of how the years chased eachother
How long did you lie under the waves Small creature?
On the sea bed, dreaming past the tides.
How many suns set at your feet Small creature?
Did you question the turning of our universe?
But I broke you
frail being, I am sorry!
Your body fused itself
with the cracks of home.
I was not as careful as the sand
when I put you to sleep.
It seems only the dead
can watch over each others dreams;
the throb of life
is helpless to change.
The light shines upon you once more,
and you tremble.
A final breeze,
of inconstant life,