Stones on the Beach

On the beach was a great gathering of stones
Thousands and thousands, colors all muted
All were so smooth, lying there as clones
Tranquil and resting no one disputed.

I walked out upon them as onto a grave
And none made a sound, dead to the core
Worn slick by the pounding of wind and wave
These once-sharpened rocks of volcanic lore.

And these are like people submitted and strange
Emotions curtailed, sadly set in their ways
No chance of causing a disturbance or change
Emerged from rough seas at the end of their days.

The great masses among us with too much to risk
Complacent and featureless and all so alike
Once hat-blooded youngsters full of vinegar and piss
Our pursuit of integrity long been on strike.

Not one made an impression, not even one jewel
Inviting a walrus like clams in the sun
Will move with the next tide, the ages-old rule
Resigned to betters’ whims, their lives all but done.

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