Dust of Stone

The sun winds up high in the sky, winding down was a count shy.

I am standing on a ledge, oh so high wishing for a flight to amend.

Like a man made of stone, broken up and then thrown.

I have fallen half off and can no longer choose on my own.

So I will entertain the windy plains of which I will stay.

Hoping for the day when I can finally rest in this state.