The Millstone

I sold the millstone
round my neck for
thirty pieces of silver
and hope I have made
a fair trade - its weight
was killing me.  I was
forced to carry it day
after day and when it
did not like what
I did
it blocked my way -
its granite face
severe and remonstratingly
frowning in its huge round
being.  And so it
trundled after me - I
had to drag it along
so it kept pace with me.
And I got so
used to its face I never
thought to myself
I could rid my life
of it, until one day
it keeled over right
beside me and
died.  I couldn't 
keep it then it had
gone all silent
and its shadowing of
my life became
irrelevant.  And so I
loosed my chains and
let it go.  And
now I have to
find a new use for my
muscles - all roads
seem light without it,
all sorrows mere
excuses that carry
no weight with me now.

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