You lay dusty, craggy, but I know your unknown luminosity. Your ambitions and passions smooth my criticisms with tumbling fluidity. I’m a ruby, but you… a diamond: hard, rough, firm. My guardians say I’m fools gold in discussing you. If anything, too much. Crush on my spirit, you might. But not consciously. Your sound unfolds and chips away in colossal canyons dispatching flows of vacillation through my solid form. I fall, rolling into pit or a hollow quarry, but nobody’s looking down. Humans look up at you. With your mountainous soul and your cryptic diamonds, our inhalations in silt.
But your vision is narrow. You look from an optimistic slant that only your solid morality knows. Us, I, contrast you. You, a diamond, indubitably. But you think us all as such. How, I ask, could a human with such wisdom find such faith in dusty lumps of sand? You cannot avoid but drill your chasms of truth and probity into my mind. With you, I am bound amidst what is lazy and what is mighty. Your walls of clout cloud my mind with a combination of my sooty blind ambition and your immortal basis of motivation.
You, a compound of diamond, a crucial of growth. Without your composition, no marks in gray that alter our world. No word from our bashful or mum. Our world won’t bypass you. But I, only a crack to your colossal canyon, but I, only a hill your mountain, but I, only a ruby to your diamond. But I, I am firm to go to spoil. You, my darling, will maintain. Cloak of sand plus a thousand cloaks of sand, it’s you who will form our history. For our part of of infinity, a cloak of your impact in print in solid rock on a mountain.