Memory Fragments: Probity

Earthquakes Of A Child

In a mountain hideout from long ago, there is a forgotten child that never ages
Made of pristine, smooth and delicate stone-like material, he is an enigma
There since time's inception, no one knows why or how he got inside cages
Confined in there, a mystery wrath awaits to tremble all who dare label with stigma

I can tell you stories I have lived, as well as ones that I have heard about him
He is nicknamed "Earth's anger" as it is said he can make earthquakes happen
Long ago, one struck this land and terraformed it in just a whim
Like the temper-tantrum of a child. Quick, causing all to become misshapen

Since then, that statue has been linked to the movement of earth's tectonic plates
Nobody knows if it truly was the work of him, or just the earth doing what it does
But every time it happens, a slight crack appears on him. Like he carries earth's weights
I worry he might break someday, yet I am curious to see what lies behind all the fuzz

Are you not, too? Maybe the stone is just a disguise for the deity underneath
It would make sense that it is a something out of mortality, unconfined by life's rule
I go there from time to time to pay respects an offer my prayers to him with a wreath
Flowers from all over the lands to remind him that the world is not cruel

When the wreath withers, I go visit. I check him for any new cracks but do not repair them
As I am not his maker, it is not my duty. Yet I am his caretaker. I keep counting the cracks
I polish his cages, as well as his chains. Up from the ground and strewn around his thumb
One hand has the chains. The other, a gripping anger that bends even the earth's parallax

It has been a long time since a new crack formed. Yet I feel resentment digging deeper
Inside this child, it is said that the earth's core lies concealed. Like it is his beating heart
If you go near him and put your ear to his chest, you can hear time's keeper
One beat, one day. Earth's natural calendar for each new start

In New Year's Eve, I go to him and celebrate besides him. No one should be alone
Though, with each new year, his heart grows bigger and faster. Like a growing child
Learning from the earth as it matures, yet it does not age but shows history in its stone
If it is truly a living being, his parents must have put him in exile

This is just my speculation but, what if, this child is earth's and time's son?
A child changes its mother's body as it grows inside of her, after all
Time begins life on earth, helps it grow and learn, then it ends it when all its done
Like a father, it is not his duty. Yet it takes care of it until all comes to a stall

Every time I hear his heart, it becomes bigger, faster, and hotter. Like anger
Perhaps, this child is angry at his parents? Or perhaps it is angry at us
What we have done to his mother, and how we have wasted his father in clangor
Loud beings that keep him awake, wishing we could cease all of humanity's fuss

Perhaps the earthquakes are him hurting his mother from inside his womb
Perhaps the chains and cages are his father's endless hold on him
Maybe he never wished to be born. Maybe the statue is but our tomb
Each time we fail, a tantrum from him. Rocking from life's cradle's toponym

When we label ourselves, he gets angry. When humans feel distinct
We are but one single life roaming inside his mother. No more space is left
We are twins. Nurturing from the same mother, by her umbilical cord we are linked
It trembles as we grip it in disgust with what she provides. Of her nutrients we are bereft

We are getting closer to a new birth. We expand and advance ever faster and brighter
As a species, we are getting past our time. Older than father, we can never be
As our mother shakes from giving birth, the child's grip gets tighter and tighter
From time's chains and cages a robot breaks free. The bastard child that earth does not want to see