The Stone

He sits within my dreams,
a troubled tinge that tosses me
and throws my covers aside.
I dwell on him sometimes
and run from such a thing
in thoughts.
His glaring stare looks down
upon my daily ways
like searing sun
strikes heat
on desert dunes.

Always seeing, never leaving,
this stalker walks
and watches behind me.
At times, he catches bits and parts
of my fleeting, flitting shadow.
He jeers and jabs my every effort
till only tatters stay behind
to tell me
of a darkened day.
His breath is rank
and stinks of rat-filled sewers.
He won’t go away, though
I shout at him and try to strike
his bony face.
He’ll only gaze,
and I know he’ll stay
until I pay his price.

Those who mocked my workings
or ransacked me for the taking
must one day also find him,
whether they’re waking or still in sleep.
He’ll seek and take each one
to a place where echoes
fade to ghosts.
The ones who tore away at me
and foes unfeeling
will meet him too
in burrowed blackness.

Will you bear my money there
or take my talismans to him?
Are you to carry my close attentions
into his constant smile?
Can you still taunt me
with lips so stitched and sealed
forever still?

We will melt into one,
molded by him
to make marshy earth.
Rushed to his realm
among roots of trees,
we’ll gather there,
whether by will or from waste.
Each in turn will eat
his hollow dirt
and inherit his blank testament.
Following scores of forsaken footprints,
one by one, we shall wallow
in sodden, shallow soil.
Find us beneath
his half-buried stone.