shadows fall upon the rocks
all of which have known a former life
harvested from mountainside or valley depths
individual yet eerily uniform
cookie cutter shapes
from the breaking of stony appendages

withering weeds
scorched by rays of sun
that constantly disapprove of something
as simple as their existence
because they are not considered beautiful
by conventional standards

hope beyond hope
has passed them over
and they have nothing left to strive for,
left to mourn the loss of each other
one by one
until they are all gone

there was never secret history
that could not be uncovered
by the nature birthed
from the heaven of fire
brought into this world by divine intervention
of a God eternal

yet some creatures have become spiteful
with ideas of superiority
ostracizing those who are viewed as lesser
solely by their appearance
or the habits they have adopted
with no regards to the true being

the rocks have been broken
from who they once were
but the weeds continue to fight
for who they still are
and just like the weeds,
I will refuse to conform.