in your mysterious eyes
water
walking water
grows its symbols
spoon-fed cubs
of tigers, water, the
terror of hippos, of
water,
of mastication,
teeth of boulders,
war, water, war;
immaculate death
come home in one piece
you breathe inside
the box
death weighs more than
water but to water
you return

I am buried in
the cliffs of death
a solid gemstone
chipped from a globe

i wanted to
paint myself blue
to see if I could
match the sky;
I could not duplicate clouds; it was
a fallen sky
it was a bad bacteria
that followed as I ran,
through the night’s
quiet poison; finally
a sky black enough for me,
Vincent’s perfect canvas

hills that christened
themselves black and green;
small dignity blank as sun
red as tears

How much joy is contained?
How much music

still thrills the heart?

Steven Stone has been writing for a long time and has worked with many styles. Steven writes about different subjects, but seems to always come back to metaphysical type work with a generous amount of imagery.