Humans have soft gushy hearts of muscle and flesh
A plant has roots, leafs and sap
Animals… just like humans!
The Rock; a heartless slab of cold mineral that is comprised of tightly packed dust and sand
You see a rock in its isolation from all outside forces raging to tear asunder its solid exterior and think in jealous sting “I wish I could be that tough” or “How does it feel to be immune to everything but time”.
Ask the rock of all that it would seek to accomplish, dreams of fluidity and free motion in oceanic range of all that roams would play passionate songs of, yet in the end it is a rock.
People can be rocks, solidarity in emotional form for the entire world to rage around as within that shell the impervious hold calm against the storm, so in other’s words they are “my rock”.
The rock wants to be the storm, rage in such temperous torrents even the devils own bows a head in respect at the chaos it reaps in rejection upon the world. But alas it must be as it has been cast, the mere centre by which others measure their own life’s wild out lashing of emotional instability.
Only he who is a fool ever chooses to be that stony anchor to whom others see as a measure of control, for to take such a nature to your core ensures the unhappiness of all it excludes, which in turn creates a turmoil to endure that is all their own.
And if all expect perfectly icy outgoings to chill the volcanic outbursts they willingly erupt, to whom does the rock confide? When is it permitted to lose control?