In Principio

The Little Rock Seat

it was a little cold

and a little musty

the walls bare, grey stone.

it was a little dark,

and a bit damp, too,

with logs long since extinguished.

it was a little lonely,

and a lot echoey,

muffled mumbling forever reverberating within.

it was a little rough,

and a little pockmarked, too,

the surface all dents and craters and pitfalls.

but then came the head,

yes, the little head bobbing along the surface.

it held a chisel and a lantern

and an expression of sheer determination

and away it

picked

picked

picked

at the hard marble

settling for nothing less than

perfection.

until finally, alas!- it stopped to behold

the little rock seat it had made.

it sat in the crevice with its chisel in one hand

and its bright lantern in the other

and it sat.

it sat.

and sat.

sat some more.

and more.

more.

sat

amongst the dents and craters and pitfalls

and burnt logs and echoey-yet-not silence

and damp musty cold and bare grey walls

until the pitch black halls of the cave

had lit up with the faint glow its lantern emitted,

creating a light wash of yellow over the grey-

almost a color yet not quite as the two fought for dominance,

a continuous tiff as they overlapped one another

over.

and over.

and over.

again.

and it almost felt warmer

and it almost felt dryer

and it almost felt louder

until one day the oil that fueled the lantern ran out

and the light flickered and assumed its business closed for the day, too,

and the grey won.

the footsteps fell and the head bobbed away

shrinking smaller and smaller as it left the cave and

its seat it had carved in the stone-

now a permanent hollow in the smooth barrier,

always a reminder of

what had once been,

what could have been

and

what will always remain-

just another hole in the wall.