Microcosmic Design

Wearing at his palm
Molted skin stone
Attrition
Rough hands erode

We can
Regeneration

It's Sisyphusian in some form
Wearing your feeling fingers down

Legacy his only contribution
To a world that's gone

Fixed in his task
Decades pass

Stone pushes stone, relinquish control

Life he lived means nothing if no one remains
Guess his reward is purpose hands on the stone