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Standing before
A bonfire
I see faces
In the fire
Looking at
The clouds
I see faces
In the clouds
Staring at
A historic wall
I see faces
In the wall
Focusing on
A ***** floor
I see faces
In the floor
Mountain rocks
I see faces
In the rocks
Depth of
A painting
I see faces
In the painting
Gazing the sky
At night
I see a face
In the Moon
All these
Pareidolia faces
Not known
Harm anybody
Turning around
I see faces
Different from
Pareidolia faces
Some unreally
Real faces
Under heavy duty
Sorry, makeup
Every fortnight
Ready for
A break up
Some real
Beautiful faces
Some real
Ugly faces
Not Judged
By the eyes
But by the
Heart's cry
Pareidolia is a normal phenomenon in human psychology.
People who had pet rocks are successful today because they understand the worth of a rock. Rocks are sturdy and hard, they don’t move unless moved, and are always there no matter the situation.
I always wanted a rock. Someone who would always be there for me when the world was crumbling down. Someone who didn’t leave me high and dry. Someone who I could count on in my worst moments.
I thought I had a rock once, but they left me when everything started falling apart. I wanted to be their rock, but they left me while I was trying to be sturdy.
Rocks are what holds us together. If you find yourself one, stay strong and hold on to them. Rocks are not meant to be kicked around or thrown, they're meant to be held down and loved.
old willow May 16
I saw a monk stopped by.
He had heard of my question before,
so he gave me an answer.
Rock is karma.
I asked him to explain,
but he smiled and left.
old willow May 15
Rock is cause, and effect!
An amusing traveler answered with a smile.
Letting out a chuckle, I asked how so?
Reaching his hand for a rock from the street,
He rolled, it stopped after a moment.
He looked at me in the eyes, then walked away.
It was then, I understood.
Exerting force upon it, causes it to roll.
Where it lands, is effects…
Sowing a seed incurs cause.
Returning next summer, a sprout took its place.
⁠— this is effect.
old willow May 15
Waiting at the crossroad,
I’ve met countless travelers.
Shaking my head from disappointment,
They could not answer my question.
— What is a rock?
Laura Apr 23
At first glance the pools of your eyes looked so deep
I lived, for a while, in fear of drowning
It wasn’t until I lay bleeding
After summoning the courage to jump
Into those still, clear waters
That I realised how wrong I had been
Ash C Apr 3
There's always this pressure behind my eyes, right at the top of them
Like someone tied heavy rocks to my head and told me keep my head up
I hate that word
"Keep my head up"
I'd rather keep looking down so I won't trip into reality
Bruno Mar 2

I’m driving.
I don’t know where, I’m more being driven, but all there is to do is peer out the window at the rushing
Anita is in the driver’s seat, moving her head slowly to the beat of the music playing delicately in the
And we’re stuck in a time when the world flows around us, where our actuality is habitual.
With no concern for the world outside me, I contemplate a perfect stack of rocks outside the window,
on the side by where we are stopped.
Time is unravelled.
And I am taken to my childhood, on foreign beaches where people had stacked rocks.
Anywhere I have ever been, there has been a stack of rocks, even inside myself.
At the end of a twelve mile hike through the mountains, a stack of rocks.
I wonder if she notices my consciousness.
In the space between time and something else, she stacks rocks that will plaster themselves together
endlessly and she will bring some home to stack in our kitchen as a reminder.
The stacks take us in.


I paint rocks for her to stack.
Each rock with a symbol of reality so that different stacks have different values and all add up to
something invariable.
Family comes over for dinner and asks about the rocks painted, stacked on our furniture and tables.
She smiles with a look of embodiment, for if they must ask they do not know.
And the neighbor boy comes on slow days and stacks our outside rocks, runs away in fear when we
catch him.
But we only ever catch him to give him more rocks to stack.
They tumble, sides not enduring and wind breathing against them but we know that if they fall they were
never meant to stay up at all.
And the totality of the stack is a dream where the world stacks itself onto a neat shelf and never asks to
change or move at all because it is logical.
And the atmosphere of the rocks is the behaviour we choose to observe because they come together in
ways we never could.
I love walking on the beach.
Each and every one has a stack of rocks.
If a human has walked the shore, there will be one.
She picks up a smooth rock and glides it into her pocket.


A common misconception of people is to think they are different from everyone else, to expect humans
to differentiate themselves based on irrelevant variations.
Her and I understand them all the same because we have breathed everywhere, and the air is always
abounding with repetition.
The repetition is the stacking of rocks.
The human tendency to stack rocks.
FloydBrandon Feb 3
Why can’t you notice me
I’m standing right here
and I know that I’m real
because I slapped on rocks and they grew some feelings
and knew they were rocks
and knew they were real
but they couldn’t move mountains
because they were rocks
and rocks can’t move
and mountains don’t care.  

Why can’t you see me
I’m more than just see-through
and I know you feel breezes
because I sneezed in your ear and you made three wishes
but wishes are for wells
and air can’t feel
and rocks can’t move
and mountains don’t care.
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