stone stew

Tears could wash it clean

Fists could break it open

Hurtful curses could translate meaning. 

But silence is the padlock 

On the drawbridge leaning

against the fortress hiding my family dream. 

And what would be shown 

if I scaled the wall in ninja clothes

and peeled away a piece of stone?

Would I finally see the small lady crying? 

Or a cold granite statue steadily applying fake hair and flesh 

blankly smiling 

while fetching the cobble fodder 

to make stone stew. 

Would I climb away knowing the dream was a ruse? 

Or would I crawl inside and want to be rock too?