Casting Stones

She wanders through the crowd like a ghost,

silent, steadfast, meek.

No one calls to her,

asks where she walks,

or why she walks,

or asks if she’s okay.

Her feet make only a soft echo to remind people that she is there,

and as the sound dies in the air, she fades from memory.

She walks along the pavement and lets the grass

which grows in the cracks tickle her toes as she walks on.

Her eyes are everywhere at once, begging, pleading to be seen,

but still the masses move past

and she remains only a trace,

a blur of motion without distinction.

Some stop her along the way

and for a moment, her eyes are hopeful,

but they simply hand her a stone

asking for advice, for help, for

anything that takes what little bit of her

is left.

She is a vessel, which she must empty of her own

matter in order to take on the burdens of others.

Her steps grow heavier with every task and burden

and complaint those around her give her

until she is stumbling, falling, crawling

to who knows where, but still, they pile their rocks

and stones and weights upon her.

There is no helping hand to lift her up

to take some of the rocks and put them on their own backs

when she pauses to rest, the crowd

which is drowning her calls her weak

and complains that she is being selfish.

Her hands are blistered, her breaths are short

but still she crawls, because it is the only thing

she is allowed to do.

Walking is for other people

for those who can waste the day away

and then complain about the work they have to do at night.

She crawls like a child lost in the dark.

She may have had a destination at the beginning,

but now, the only thing she can do is crawl,

her back screaming with the weight of the rocks

as people continue to pile them on,

Ignorant to her struggles and pain.

When she finally collapses, she wonders:

Will anyone find her?

Will anyone care?

Or will she be forever buried under

the pile of stones that she has borne for so long?