Lysis Strata

You know...

The buildings in these parts

Are meant to slow way down

To dreams...

We animals,

Our lives

And once and future

Needs.

And they're made

More or less of stone,

That was laid down

In ancient seas.

They'll teach you that

In school, 

Though,

It's a fact that you can see.

My home was once an ocean,

And in it's water their lived 

Things.

They lived and ate and prospered

Till,

They fell 

As mortal beings.

And when they hit 

The bottom,

Of the ocean,

And their lives;

They piled on slow

Rotation

Upon the coldest

Saline pyre.

So the muscles of 

My neighbors

That I couldn't hope

To share;

They are bulging

And quite useful,

Or were once,

At getting 

What they'd bear.

In their case,

Way back,

It was stone,

Beneath our land;

Long after 

All those swimming

Beings

Rained down

On ocean sand.

And it's funny that I 

Have this fossil,

Chock a block to play;

With light upon the beginnings

And endings

Most of all our days.

A canvas colored painting

Accreted of those lives;

From tens of millions

Moments that most human's

Won't surmise.

(But that ain't the whole

Darn story friend...

Not in the least.)

All mountains hold

With features like

Their crumbling

Stone facades;

Their tendency to

Tumble

Being helped

By something odd.

And this oddity 

Has much more to

Do with you

Than taught,

By the vessels of 

Our memory,

Observant at some cost.

Entombed within the mountains,

Which, to some might climb from time,

Are the simple shapes of life

Which trip a wo/man

In search of signs.

That life has been a constant,

No matter,

What, our history,

Though the secret

Is that you and I

Share quarry with these dreams.

This world in not

A cold stone

That is circling 

Round the sun,

But a curling

Benediction

That it carries

Something fun.

Sure, a pretty

Kiddies picture book,

All red in tooth and claw,

But also big stone mountains

Which to life too

Must be drawn.

A sign of life

Is beautiful

From a garden

And from space.

From the moaning

And the labors

Of a birth...

So at a pace.

But the buildings

That when entered

Seem to cradle us anew,

As surely were 

The intentions of

The burly construction crew;

Also have upon their face

The comedy of life,

That so long as girls

Will have it

In stone can't

Be denied.

Your hands and eyes

Might have it

That they're victims

Of the world.

As they travel down

The spiral toward

A place where all

Are born.

But be soon appraised,

If you are kind

Enough to love,

The flight of a pigeon dove

And the same of your wife;

The short life 

We were

Raining

Before the mountains

Time.

You are younger than the water.  But you are older than the stone.