The story of our lives
continues self-rewriting..
So long as we are still alive,
until we’re split asunder,
we’re still gliding..
Along the edge of chaos..
Along the razor of a life.

It equilibrates
within some local minimum
but doesn’t end..
And then we’re climbing up
the gradient again.
And then we’re climbing up
another steep,
yet unsurmounted hill..
Upon another heavy stone
we are compelled..
to once again impose our will.

A story of the ill..
leading the mad.
A story of the wicked..
following the bad.
But in our heart of hearts..
we’re all still so alone.
And is that not the weight..
of The Heaviest Stone?