The Rocks Have Eyes

i resolved to revive a rock the other day it shook for a minute before bursting into chatter as eternal silence finally withered away, its words poured out like the fastest of rains it spoke first in gibberish then in other languages I could not comprehend at last it spoke in english (with the crackiest voice) i caught something about the Big Bang and something about at t-rex it hollered about civilisation insisting that it was worse than the worst ice age, that it surely would bring the world to an end “the hate still is here,” it gasped “the world is still the same. we waited for it always: but love never came” the rock cried out and it kept on talking without pausing for a second, or even to draw breath it told tales of a world that i had not known it spoke of evolution and war, and the divine at last i put the rock back to rest it stood then in silence but i knew it surely could see and certainly could hear (it knew i was there) and Oh! it must laothe me for taking back its voice but i had to make it stop (this much i knew): it told too much truth and such earnest could hardly do good.