Bully and the Mountain

But gravel seeps through fingers, it winds and pours as Ichor. 

[unfurl a grip of ashen pebbles, hear them clatter] 

and so the Mountain bleeds, for lack of more

specific

terms. Surely when bled, the Mountain must act? 

[Teoull spoke in soft tones and strenuous whispers]

You

[The gravel rattles]

speak in riddles and phrases you find clever

you prattle 

with words you cradle and fade

away slowly, you may not taste the decay

but I assure you, to the mountain

You are a sporecap

boring into my garden You 

seek my blessing?

I deal not in

temporary acolytes burdened by death.

[The mountain side is cool to the leg]

You wish for obstinance? 

[Teoull is cool to the thought]

I reject impermanence. 

And what of resilience?

What of taking a stance

ideals forged aside steel

and concepts undying 

is a change

not defiance of death? 

I reuse these musings on you,

is a change not 

the death of the Thing?

is a new path to tread

not a birth

and subsequently,

a death.

 

[The stones gash when struck, bloodless]

I will have your blessing, Teoull. 

You are leaving me. You have disturbed 

some stones

and disrupted my sleep;

but in the end, your resolve

was less

than my own. 

[The mountain taunts again]

You will see.

Through paper, through paint

Through chisel and teeth

what I will be.

You will

see.