Metaphor

Although I have cast plenty of stones there are still a duet of rocks that weigh me down. They are chained to my ankles as they unexpectedly tug at my feet and I dance with defeat no matter what my plea.

They sit on a ledge and wait for an inopportune moment to fall, so instead of free falling with the rocks flailing unnoticeably and plummeting behind me, they take the first leap and drag me into their pitfalls leaving me with broken bones and bruises. With time these rocks slowly erode away, but in comparison to stones their lifetime is far greater and weight is much larger.

One of these rocks is more of a catalyst for the other, considerably less in mass but it's experience as a deadweight is far greater. It's initial purpose was to pull me to the greatest depths of the ocean, but once it got toward the bottom it cracked under pressure and the deadweight devolved into a regular rock that lies in my front yard, camouflaged by the overgrown weeds and stones.

The other is always in my general line of sight, friendly and enthusiastic, but I'm still unsure of the elements that compose it. I understand it's facade and extraordinary affectation, but am infinitely perplexed by the truth of it's nature. Although it slowly sinks ahead of me, I buoyantly ogle as it does. Hopefully the inner elements of this rock are sturdy and sure, without too many cracks in it's design. A granite finish, as opposed to it's marble cohort. Even if that rock will never be tied to my hand again, I'm sure it will pull at my heartstrings even once it reaches paradise.

"You love a sinking stone that will never elope,

so get used to the lonesome."

Happy Independence Day, by the way.