Paperweight Poem by shimon weinroth

on my desk,
there sits a rock
crystalline and hard,
whose aomic weight
makes him heavy

he is older than,
the empires
that have come and gone
rose and declined,

sits as a paper weight
steadfast and stoic,
seperating memos
from memories,

faithful and loyal
unmoving and stable
listens to my stories,
all the echoes

of sound and time,
fury and mime
has heard my sighs and cries,
secrets unfold,

of all my companions
I have no fear
that under pressure
he will crack
nor reveal
what has been said,

dreams trashed
imagnations buried
fantasies dead

he sits there emotionless,
mocking my mortality,
and atomic weight