Made of Stone (poem)

I've sometimes wished I was made of stone,

into a statue nobody cares about,

a human figure with no sense or mind,

impervious to the events of the world.

Wouldn't it be nice to shut it all off?

To no longer be able to think of climate change,

of the threat of war and corruption,

of those who die due to other's carelessness?

There are those who pretend to be made of stone,

those who can pretend it isn't happening,

choosing to ignore and deny the problems of the world,

instead of facing the truth and helping.

There's something tragic about being made of stone,

something that borders on being inhuman.

It means being unchanging, solid,

but we were made to be fluid, to change.

Stone is uncaring, unfeeling,

but we were born into care and feeling.

Stone exists solely alone,

but we exist solely together.

Being made of stone requires giving up ourselves

to try to become something we can never be,

all out of fear, sorrow, or worse,

to live in a world of delusion.

I've sometimes wished I was made of stone,

just to be numb to the world,

but I'd rather be flesh and bone,

to feel and to act.

-Zero